Albus Potter and the Deadly Exchange
by Sealinkchan
Summary: It's 19 years later and a new generation is attending Hogwarts, including a few exchange students. This story follows Albus, Scorpius, and Samantha as they face the challenges of wizarding school, adolescence, and each other. Chapter 34 includes a tense scene, rating raised to T. Feel free to add reviews.
1. Chapter 1-5

**Albus Potter and the Deadly Exchange**

Chapter 1 Just a Few Things

Saturday, 26 August 2017

Albus S. Potter

"Al, wake up! We're almost there." Lily was excited, as if her voice wasn't high-pitched enough already. Kneeling on her brother for a better view didn't help either.

Albus, on the other hand, was not so much excited as tired, "London, yes ... it's not like we live here." The sarcasm earned Al a light jab in the arm as his sister fell back to the middle. After all, Al thought, going to Diagon Alley wasn't that special. The only thing different this time was that Dad wasn't too busy to go with them.

Their older brother James reached over from the far seat and grabbed Al's arm, "Nah, Lily, you gotta put your weight behind it." James cocked back his fist, prepared to give a full demonstration.

"James, settle!" Their parents' interruption was swift and in time. Mum twisted about and pointed at her eldest, "What did I say about hitting anyone?"

James turned away from the warning, "I know, Mum ..."

His mother hooked a finger under his chin and brought his face back to her. She'd gone from annoyed to threatening, "What did I say?"

"Ginny," their father snapped anxiously.

It was as if she had been the one scolded instead of James, "Harry, hitting isn't allowed at school, and it certainly isn't allowed with family."

Mr Potter managed a hurried explanation, "Ginny, the wall, the switch."

She flinched at the realisation, took her hand off the dashboard where she had supported herself, and pressed the knob she'd just uncovered, "Sorry, I just ..."

In his much more familiar and friendly tone Harry announced, "It's all right. Setting down, everyone buckled and braced!"

Al reached over and pulled Lily's belt across her waist. He kept his voice low, "Mum's gonna pop she sees you out your belt again." She sighed and fastened in. Even she couldn't avoid the reality of the car's jarring landings. Normally, Dad would have taken the road, but they had run late (more accurately, Lily had dawdled). Instead, he _flew_ the car, something that would be fascinating to any normal family. However, in the Potter house, with each of them using magic to some degree, and their father having special privileges as law enforcement, this was only a little less than usual. Of course "muggle" families, those without magic, had no access to flying cars or charmed items of any sort. Plus, even within the secretive magical community, flying enchantments on muggle items (vehicles especially) were strictly regulated. It was all well and good to have a flying broom or carpet ( _anyone_ could have those), but flying automobiles were a whole other thing.

The parking garage was easy to notice (for those in the know). It was the only one Albus had ever seen with stone gargoyles. They were flying several stories up. An avoidance spell (just like the charms on most brooms and carpets) kept the muggles from noticing any more than a glint in the sky. When Mrs Potter triggered the "lighter", the bricks of the garage's uppermost wall folded back and into themselves as a shimmer of light spread out like a curtain in the open space above. Al grasped the door handle beside him and stretched his other arm to hold Lily in place. The vehicle suddenly banked left, everyone inside tilted right. The car rocked and shook as it touched down. Mr Potter eased back on the brake handle (actually the altitude control).

The rear lock switched and the door started to open. The Jaguar, over fifty years old, didn't have power locks. Al held the door handle and whispered, "Lily, the locks! Cut it out!"

Lily smiled gleefully and hissed back, "Don't tell!" They drove along the covered car-park and pulled into a wide spot. The door swung out of Al's grasp. Lily had already unlatched herself and slid across Al's lap.

A phone rang from the front seat, but Al was focused on undoing his safety belt, careful to turn his back to the door. It was just in time to be missed by his brother's grasp. James' reach was shortened by not having released himself yet. He settled for a final taunt, "Sneaky snakes!" Dad was on his mobile, and Mum, though set to exit the car, waited (anxiously) on the results of the call. Lily was looking over the edge of the garage to the street below. James repeated himself, it echoed loudly, "Sneaky snakes get sorted ta' Slytherin." There were four divisions or "houses" of students at school, Slytherin was the least popular.

Al was tired of the teasing from his brother (who was in Gryffindor, the **most** popular house, at least in their family). James had gone off about the possibility of Albus ending up in Slytherin since the invitation had arrived from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "Stuff it, James!"

Lily joined her brothers beside the boot. She was more upset than Al, probably because she hadn't felt included in the taunts before, "We will not!"

James gloated, "Oh? Who unlocked that door then, lil' Lil!"

Lily gasped. She had been locking and unlocking doors and such (magically) on "accident". Al wasn't quite sure why it was locks so often for Lily (Al used to "collect" things, while James never really had a pattern to his random castings). James had gone for a sore spot. Lily was jealous about not going to the magic boarding school for another two years. She set her feet, pointed at James and called out, "I did not! _You must not tell lies!"_ They were all shocked, Lily's eyes went wide in terror. She clasped her hands to her mouth as if she could catch the words. There were few cars about, and they were four levels up; the morning traffic outside was barely a dull sputter. It wasn't nearly enough noise to cover her outburst. The elder Potters closed their doors, Mr Potter still engaged on the phone. Lily dared a look to her mother, but Mrs Potter was fixed on her husband's conversation waiting for some tell-tale response.

Albus hoped it wasn't official stuff. Having an Auror (a wizard police officer) for a dad was cool, except for all the times he got called to work (even way after "work" hours). The whole deal today was Mr Potter going with them. Al didn't want to think about that ending, and instead took the chance to tease Lily, "Guess _I'm_ left out."

Lily's surprise quickly turned to scorn as she slapped Al's half-raised hand, "You don't even wanna hold Daddy's hand anymore!"

James changed sides and stuck up for his brother, "He called it."

Lily shook her fists and stamped her feet, "Ohhh!"

Mum noticed the brief tantrum, "What are you three on about?"

James spoke up, "I was just telling Al how he's gotta go to Gryffindor if he wants to stay in the family."

That wouldn't cover for Lily's behavior. Al thought as quick as he could, "And I said I had to wait to see where Lil sorted. So I'm left out ... of the sorting." Not as quick as he hoped.

Luckily, Lily was smarter than her brothers. She went on as if there _had_ been such a conversation, "I told you, you can't wait on me, I won't be at Hogwarts for two years, dummy!" Then, she started to beam, "Oh, unless that means I can go this year, Mum."

Their mother rolled her eyes. The act had been sold, "Don't call your brother 'dummy'."

There were the usual rules in the Potter house: knock before entering, careful where you point your wand, only adults told a house elf to do chores. Then there were some additions the kids came up with on their own: you had to sneak in the word "left" to hold Dad's left hand (or more-so, to _not_ hold his right), no one ever let Mum or Dad know about this, and no one ever said anything close to the words scarred onto the back of his right hand: _I must not tell lies._ No matter what happened between the three of them, they never tattled on each other over _these_ rules.

Mr Potter ended the call, turned to his wife and shook his head. She immediately brightened up, "C'mon, everyone, in the lift." There was a lobby in the corner of the garage. To any non-magical person it would look quite out of place. There were three fireplaces, a door to the stairs, and only one lift. The floors had dingy white tiles, the walls plain concrete. Posters had directions for how to drive in traffic, what to wear, words to avoid, basically how to avoid notice in the muggle world. A small booth was occupied by an alert woman in a brown Ministry uniform. She waved to the Potters as they approached. Once they boarded the lift, Mrs Potter spoke quietly, even though no one outside could have heard her, and no one inside could have helped but hear her, "So, ... what was it?"

Dad shook his head again, "It was ... I think Ron sat on his phone. Sounded like Freddie's trying to teach _him_ to drive ... a car." Ron Weasley was their uncle. He and George Weasley (also their uncle, and Freddie _his_ son) ran the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes store. It was the biggest store in England (among wizards). George said selling little toys was just a way to buy himself bigger toys (especially cars). But why would it be Ron calling, or Freddie teaching him to drive?

The doors opened to the ground level. The spaces were packed with cars of varying ages, even several classic carriages with (and without) horses. A few spots were taken up with locking racks full of individual flying brooms and multi-passenger carpets. Mr Potter stepped out a few paces, while Mrs Potter and James made an abrupt u-turn and walked down the alley. Al and Lily hesitated just outside the doors. Al checked, as he always did, that the guard beside the lift was the same person on this floor as on the fourth (on all of them actually).

Their father turned and knelt in front of his children. He had a playful look in his eyes, "Called 'left', did you, Al?" Al fought his gasp down while Lily's jaw dropped and her chin trembled. Mr Potter set his hands on each child's shoulder and continued on warmly, "I think going to Hogwarts this year makes you old enough to walk on your own, Al ..." He looked back and forth between them, "if you mind where you're going." He patted Al on the shoulder, then hugged his daughter close a moment, slid his left hand down her arm to her hand. The man stood while his little girl nearly danced beside him. They all laughed. Harry announced, "Now, Albus Severus Potter, time to buy your books."

Dad had known about the left hand calling (for how long?), and probably heard what Lily had said, too. He wasn't upset by it. Al wondered why they bothered trying to keep secrets from their father. It never seemed to work, and even when found out, he didn't react like Mum or Gran did, not like any of their aunts or uncles either. Nearly nothing upset him.

"Yeah, A-S-P, _asp_. What house would have asps in it?" James smirked.

Nearly nothing upset Mr Potter. This was one of the few things that did. Their mother would have explained it as she scolded. Dad kept it simple, "James." No explanation, no lecture, that ended James' teasing (for this excursion at least).

The old, heavy door to the Leaky Cauldron tavern opened. Mrs Potter muttered, her husband's expression softened at her exit. She cautioned in a whisper, "Don't. Trelawney, she asked me why I wasn't wearing black." Then she changed moods to complain cheerily, "Neville doesn't need a car to see Hannah. He apparates or uses the floo, then they use a carpet when he's here. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Ginny scrunched up her nose and swatted her husband's arm. Everyone giggled at the exchange. Mr Potter turned to the wall and spoke to no one in particular, "Too many parked back there."

Mrs Potter answered, "Like I told you, coach in positive terms. You said 'don't make a big deal of it.' All they heard was 'make a big deal'." She tapped her wand three times at one of the bricks. A hole opened from its center until the whole wall was a tall, wide arch.

Mr Potter sighed, took his wife's hand in his right, and said, "The flaw in the plan."

It was not quite ten in the morning as the Potters walked into Diagon Alley. The shops were just opening, many had only just set up their displays along the street. Al, however, noted something odd this Saturday morning. It was the same old cobble-stoned lane, with its assorted, old-fashioned store fronts. The first place beyond the archway had carts of cauldrons and pots and ... a banner.

Dad sounded tense, "Do the boys need their own cauldrons?"

Mum was annoyed, too, "No. Not 'til fourth year, now."

"Good."

Mr Potter sped up as they passed Potage's with it's strange advert: "Supplier of Cauldrons to Dumbledore's Army." Al knew Dumbledore had been a teacher to his parents, and there was a school in Wiltshire named after him. Did he start a war, or some relative of his? Were cauldrons a big deal for armies?

Indeed, several other stores had something up about the Wizarding Wars (a first and second) and the Dumbledore Army. Al thought about it and _knew_ that he'd heard of this army before. But when, and from who?

The idea was interrupted by a yelp from Lily, "Dad!" Her father startled and turned.

Al's mother was quick to offer comfort, but not to her daughter, "Harry, relax. They don't think about it ... they're just stupid." She glanced at the nearby pet store.

Dad tended to his daughter as she cupped her hands. He sighed and was once again calm and collected, "Squeezed your paw a bit, Kitten?"

Lily nodded warily. The term of affection broke her caution though, "Everything OK, Daddy?"

Mr Potter nodded back, "If I promise it won't happen again, think I could hold your hand?"

Lily held her obviously uninjured hand forward, "Only if you kiss and make it better."

As their father complied, all but one of them laughed. "Ah, Merlin's beard, worse than Rosie!" James complained.

The Potters resumed their trek along Diagon Alley. James led the way, while Al held close behind their parents. Al's father nearly growled a whisper to his wife, "Did we get Bamfrey or Tolbert at Eeylop's?"

Mrs Potter shook her head, "No, Grubblyplank's."

Al glanced back at the pet store to figure out what had happened. Eeylop's didn't have any of the streamers, but there was a sign with a white owl perched on a boy's arm. Al saw the name and two dates on it. Al figured the owl, Hedwig, must have passed away, but Al couldn't make out who the boy was _and_ keep up with his parents (though the boy's glasses made it pretty certain the kid was a muggleborn).

James had outpaced his family. He also needed books (it would be his third year at Hogwarts), but he often wandered off from the family these days. It didn't work out this time. A large group of people, maybe fifty or more, were gathered outside the bookstore. Someone opened the doors from inside. The crowd looked to be mostly families (or at least adults with children). They made their way in awkwardly, quick yet polite at the same time.

The famliy stopped with Mr Potter. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mum opened her eyes wide and smiled, "You know the great part about this, Harry?" Dad looked back at her in disbelief. " _I_ get to just be your wife." Both parents chuckled a bit. Al and Lily smiled, but Al thought that was just because neither of them really understood what their parents were going on about. At the very least, Al knew this wasn't going to be one of those events where they lost Mum to her fans. No one had jerseys or flags for the Holyhead Harpies. There was no Quidditch match today (or **ever** in Diagon Alley).

The scene inside the bookstore made Al think that the store signs weren't that much of a concern to the other families. People chatted excitedly, but didn't seem interested in the books on the shelves (they already had their own). The dowdy woman behind the counter sounded quite bothered, "If you are here to pick up Hogwarts standards, please queue up at our reservations counter. All school texts are arranged on that wall. If you do not find what you need ask one of the clerks. Be orderly please, mind your manners, eyes to the front." Al wasn't sure if she was Flourish or Blott (as was the name of the store) or if such people really existed, but either way, he knew only one thing happened when you tell people to look forward: they all look back.

"Harry Potter!" Albus wasn't sure who said it. Or how many. Or why so loud. Or what in Merlin's robes was going on. It was a bit different from when Mum was rushed by fans. Most of her admirers were girls (or women). They were also mostly younger, well, some of them were mums at most. There were usually fewer and they almost exclusively wore green and yellow. What struck Al as the strangest was that nothing like this ever happened to Mrs Potter in a book store. Then again, Albus had never been in Flourish and Blott's before. Maybe this event (it could be a regular thing) was why Dad had stayed home with Lily and Al when James bought his books the last two years (Al's lack of interest in reading kept him out the rest of the time).

The men, women, boys, and girls were a bit anxious as to what to do. They didn't quite crowd in all the way (Mum's fans would crash right into her). They seemed to want to shake Dad's hand, but were a bit wary, as well (of course, no one should just rush an Auror). Some of them offered books for him to sign, but they weren't autograph books (or a picture, ball or broom, none of the logical things to sign).

Mr Potter looked to his family. Mrs Potter reacted with a raise of her eyebrows and tightened lips. She pointed in a little circle at Al and Lily and then to the school lane. Dad nodded in surrender before he faced the noisy audience.

James was at the reservations counter with a stack of texts before him. Mother had Lily in hand, but Al wasn't in a rush to get school books. Not when something so curious was going on, especially with his father at the center of it. Mrs Potter called out for her youngest son, but he was intent on the gathered crowd instead.

"... grown into a real man ..."

"... hard to believe he was raised by muggles ..."

"... never see him _off_ duty ..."

"... family must be proud ..."

An older woman in faded purple robes gave up on her attempt to cut through the crowd and broke off for the main counter. A hunch prompted Albus to sneak along the shelves for a hint as to why.

He couldn't make out what she muttered, but the lady at the register (maybe a manager?) had to speak up, "Of course we have them, all the Harry Potter books are under the Wizarding War display. What? No. **He** insisted **all** of them be together."

Harry. Potter. Books. Who would read such a silly thing? Albus understood his father was Chief Auror (Detective Commander to muggles) and that he was pretty cool for a dad (a hundred times cooler than Percy, but not even close to as cool as George). Except, so _many_ people Al knew were Aurors. Uncle Ron used to be his father's partner, as had Neville. Kingsley used to be an Auror, but was now **the** Minister of Magic (and Mr Potter's boss, well, everyone's boss), so, more people would know him, right? Ron pretty much ran WWW now. Neville Longbottom taught at Hogwarts, but his wife Hannah owned the Leaky Cauldron Tavern and was therefore _much_ better known than any Auror (she was pretty cool, too). Then there was Cattermole, Mateo, Proudfoot, Savage, and even funny Teddy Lupin was in training to become an Auror, and he had _just_ graduated Hogwarts. Half the adults Al knew were presently or had been Aurors. _When had Aurors become more popular than Quidditch players? Mum had her own action figure!_

Despite his confused thoughts, Albus kept up with the elderly witch as he avoided her notice. The rows of shelves were labeled as the clerk had said: The Wizarding Wars [HP font], the letters jagged like lighting. The books along the borders were varied and their order was not immediately obvious. The center of the display was hard to miss, though. Four titles stuck out. Each was arranged in three by three squares. _The Boy Who Lived_ had Mr Potter's portrait at Al's age. Dad used to wear thick, black glasses _(Just like the kid with the owl!)_ , and the scar on his forehead had been darker. The magically animated version of Harry kept adjusting his wavy, black mess of hair as he went from happy to uneasy. Al looked at his Dad's eyes; were they as much alike as _every_ adult in Al's family commented on at some point? The next book looked like a wanted poster of his father and was called _Un_ _desirable #1_. Graffiti in several points made the cover a sort of joke full of opposite meanings. Al thought it was odd of someone to go to the trouble of making an authentic looking wanted poster and then mark it up just for a book cover. The front of _Chosen_ was illustrated. The top had a baby surrounded by debris and flames, the title split through the middle, then a cartoon of a teenage Harry Potter dirty and bruised, face-to-face with a man so poorly drawn he had no hair, nose or lips, and red slits for eyes. Again and again, a green and red flash broke them apart (and revealing the faces to be cut-outs). Then the image would reset to them staring at each other. The fourth featured book, _Dumbledore's Army_ , had a collage of picures across it. Mr Potter was central among them, flanked by Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, Mrs Potter just above them. Al recognized most of the pictures: Neville, Luna, Thomas, Mrs Sun and Mr Creevey. It was a challenge to recognize George without one of his hats, but Al figured he had to be one of the ginger twins. If that was the army in question, where was Dumbledore? Around the edges of these covers were many more titles with only their spines showing: _Auror Muggle_ , _Cupboard Under the Stairs_ , _Destiny Fulfilled_. One cover shone: _Erised Denied_. Al removed it and saw the front was a warped mirror. The title was in black across the top, and 'Eldred Worple' was similarly printed across the bottom. There were so many different books Al could not even read all the titles: _Ashes of the Order_ , _Weasleys Everywhere_ , _The Women Behind the Hero_ , and _The Life, Lies, and the Legend of Albus Dumbledore._ The last one was by Rita Skeeter, but editted by H Granger. Rose's grandparents were named Granger, Al thought they must be related.

The dainty, old witch hesitated at taking a copy of _The Boy Who Lived_ and selected _Chosen_ instead. Al figured he was going to be in her way (and confronted for skulking about), and slipped down the row and around, coming back at the Wizarding War shelves from the side. This approach not only gave him more cover (he heard Mum call his name), but also brought him across a smaller display: The Other Side [HP font]. At first, Al thought the shelf was named such just for being on the other side of the aisle. However, the books were also all darker, bound in black and brown. Bright red print drew Al to one book spine: _The Life of a Villain_. He pulled it out to see the cover. It had three pictures top to bottom. The first was unmagically still, a muggle photo of a pale boy with short, dark hair, cleanly cut and combed, kind of like Al. The second was a normal (wizard) photo of a teenager in student robes with a badge (just like his cousin Victoire's). While the first two looked like the subject had posed, the third was of a group of wizards in black. The picture shook then zoomed in on a man as he started to float up from the others. Unlike the drawing from _Chosen_ , this was a **real** picture of a wizard with no hair, no nose, and red slits for eyes ... Al shoved the book back in the case.

Mum was close. Worse, while the sound of her voice was clearer, she called for Albus in a quieter voice. She **knew** she was close. Al scanned the titles quickly for something more, he didn't know what. _A Ministry Gone Bad_ , _Under the Dark Mark_ , _The Malfoys: A Change in Tides_ , _The Black-est Night_ , then one that stopped the search. If Albus had been a bit more mature, he might have wondered why he was so interested. This title answered that unasked question. He pulled the thin book out. The man on the cover was quite annoyed, his dark eyes stared down a hawkish nose. The portrait smoothed back his black hair which was otherwise indistinguishable from the background. The bright green letters stood out: _Severus Snape: the Simple Story of a Complicated Man_ , featuring an "exclusive interview" with Harry Potter. _Severus_ ... Albus' middle name. He had to know more.

Lily complained about carrying Albus' textbooks. Al quickly shoved the Severus book in the back of his waistband. He stood to find Mrs Potter just beyond the row he had been crouched down in. "Mum! Could I get one of these?" He gestured about as if the book he wanted was still on one of the shelves.

It was unlike her to not have a ready answer ("no"). This time, she couldn't settle on what to say, "Albus ... now ... it's not a good time for that." When his mother looked back for Mr Potter, Al untucked the back of his shirt and let it fall to cover the book. He didn't want to upset his mother, but he couldn't let this clue to his middle name pass. He had heard mention of several others and even met another Albus. No other Severus existed as far as he knew. Dad was the only one who ever even used Albus' middle name (and not in that "James Sirius Potter what are you doing?" sort of way).

Lily nearly dumped the heavy bundle of books on her brother. James was waiting by the store entrance. As Albus, Lily and their mother moved to join him, the person in charge of the store spoke up, "That's that then. Unless you have a criminal matter to complain of, such as loitering, harassment, or unlawful detention, the Chief Auror and his family appear to be done with their business." The crowd gave in to the snide suggestion. Mr Potter and a few others smirked at the humour. Those few that actually had books to buy for Hogwarts queued up. The others turned to talk and to compare their recently acquired souvenirs.

All attention quickly turned back to the Potters as they exited. The book jumped on its own from under Al's shirt and flew to the store's counter with a shriek, "THIEF! THIEF!"

For the last week before school, Albus was not allowed to use his wand, no television, no computer, no broom flying. He would have to do all his own chores in addition to James', and Lily's household tasks, and anything Totsie (the Potter's house-elf) needed help with, all without magic (not that Al knew much but _lumos,_ a pitiful light spell, and how to activate already charmed items). James' teasing increased ten-fold. Lily got all nervous, and barely spoke when Al was in the room. Mrs Potter was livid, but let Dad be the one to talk to Albus. Mr Potter was calm in delivering Al's punishment, which just made it all that much worse. At least he did not avoid Al (as he had feared). Even worse, they didn't buy the book, as it turned out they already had it at home.

Next Sunday, as the family prepared for the boys' departure, Al had let the issue go, he didn't even want to read the book any more. He was more excited about going to a school where everyone would know and do magic. Even if Al had thought of it, he wouldn't have brought it up and upset everyone all over.

Chapter 2 According to Schedule

Sunday, 3 September 2017

Scorpius H. Malfoy

He did not, precisely, wake up. Scorpius had drifted in and out of sleep all night. He gave up and sat up. The couch was surrounded with the cardboard boxes that cluttered most of the room. The couch was comfortable enough as a bed, but adjusting to the jumbled maze had taken the entire week. The sound of sparse traffic came from the streets below. The blond boy stood in the one open space beside his makeshift bed and yawned. He cringed at the taste of his own mouth. He donned the slippers and robe he had placed on a stack of boxes the night before and wound through the packed containers to the bedroom door. He listened in. Though he **needed** the lavatory, it would be unbecoming to disturb his parents.

Mrs Malfoy had reassured her son it was acceptable to "make a break for it" down to the office if the apartment bathroom was unavailable (the door to it from the main room was blocked by several file cabinets). Scorpius went and peered down the dark passage to the slit of light beneath the downstairs door. He wondered if anyone else lived in the flats above the street-front shops. Like Father's company, most of the businesses used the upstairs properties as a break room and storage.

Nervously, hygiene kit in hand, the young Malfoy crept down the stairway. Curiosity overtook him at the bottom of the steps. He opened the door to the office and ventured a few meters out. Scorpius startled a moment at seeing cars on the street and a couple biking by. The windows had no curtains and someone might be confused at a boy in his bedclothes wandering around the wooden desks. Then he remembered that the entire office was mirrored on the outside. One could see in with his or her face pressed to the glass, but not otherwise.

His morning routine complete, Scorpius crept quietly back upstairs. It was not brave to be concerned about being seen in pyjamas by strangers. Nor was it clever to forget the reflective window tinting. Perhaps it was considerate, humble, or such to allow his parents their privacy. He wasn't certain. Before the day was over though, he would know, but so would everyone else. The excitement that stirred him all night rushed back until he smiled despite his previous thoughts. Before he slept tonight, he would be sorted at Hogwarts and he it would happen just as he planned.

Greatly cheered, Scorpius decided to ready breakfast. Unlike the lounge area, the kitchen and dining area were often used, and clear of boxes. He wanted to make his mother's favorite. The recipe was on his phone. He set it down on the counter and began his search for ingredients. There was no flour, nor sugar, no baking powder, and certainly no produce. They had been in London for a week and mostly ate easily prepared food, though once each they had dined out and had take-in. They'd eaten the leftovers, leaving only eggs, bacon, milk, and cereal. He wasn't even going to _see_ his parents again for a month. All they had done for him, he wanted to do something special for them before he left (especially Mother).

Scorpius dressed, glad he had showered the night before. An internet search came up with a store only two blocks off. He took his emergency money envelope from his large, hard-case chest and concealed it inside his windbreaker. So as to avoid any worry, he wrote a note on a sheet from the printer and tucked it above the bedroom door handle. Facing the world was not nearly as daunting once fully clothed.

No one took notice of the eleven year-old boy walking on his own. Not that there were many people out at eight in the morning on a Sunday. Scorpius was the only person on the footway. He did not have far to go, but he was wary as he had rarely ventured forth alone in Soho. Something similar weighed on his mind even more. As much as he looked forward to attending Hogwarts, learning and using magic every day, he knew he would have to be on guard there, too.

An electronic chime sounded as Scorpius entered the store. The woman hunched behind the counter glanced from her television to assess her customer, "Don't be thinkin' of nickin' summthin', gotcha on the vid." She pointed at a second screen above her program with a four way split image of the store, including the woman and Scorpius at the entrance. At first, due to his previous experience and his present perspective, he didn't believe the rest of the store was covered by just three cameras. It did not take long to realise the narrow shop contained only two short aisles.

The store also had no flour, no baking powder, and most certainly no fruit; their sugar was in packets measured for tea or coffee. There was a H&B less than a mile off, but it wouldn't open for nearly three hours. Scorpius clutched a box of baking soda and approached the counter, "Madam." He waited, forgiving that, perhaps, the show was of more interest to her than it was to him. Scorpius ran his fingers through the back of his hair to stave off his impatience. In a few moments though, she seemed to doze off. Her false threat of attention to the surveillance camera was more annoying than her lack of service. Scorpius slammed the bell on the counter, "Madam!" She turned, startled. Malfoy flinched back a step. He was alarmed at his own loss of temper, though it may not have seemed that way, "Excuse me! I found baking powder, I mean soda, but you haven't anything I was looking for: flour, sugar, blueberries."

Not quite fully awake, and not wanting to appear unaware, the cashier challenged back, "Wot's yer name?"

Scorpius didn't want to lie, but, outside the wizarding community his name was unusual, "Scott." It was the alias given on his Ministry of Magic-issued passport.

She picked at an unopened pack of cigarettes. "And where yer from?"

"Liverpool, madam, but I need these things to make pancakes, well, Scottish pancakes, for my mother," He wanted to leave. This was not a proper grocery store. This was not the kind of person he wanted to talk to: someone whom he was better off lying to.

She stared at him. Maybe she thought to ask more irrelevant questions, or call the authorities ... or drift back to sleep. As if it all finally sunk in she blurted out, "Scottish pancakes? Whi'e boxes, 'bout two thir' the way. Got apple-cin'mon 'n' choc'ate chip, too. Yer mother Scottish? Where's she at?"

Scorpius smiled weakly and replied, "Well, she went to school in Scotland, and she's _just_ around the corner, madam," _and two blocks down ... and in bed._ He replaced the baking soda and picked out the blueberry labelled box, "But these are scones, madam, I ..."

She pushed buttons on the register and the printer churned, "Got directions fer both on ih. Gotta uncle up in Manchester. Don't sound sharp as you."

He strained to be polite, "Thank you, madam." He handed her a five pound note then slid the change into his envelope, careful to not reveal its contents, "Good day, madam." As quickly as he could, he was out of the store.

Before he dashed off, Scorpius fished out his mobile, captured the store image, and linked it to his search. He flicked the keyboard on the screen and entered a review, _More a run-down convenience store than a grocer._ Scorpius hesitated. He thought how he did not know the woman, nor how she ended up in the store, or who even owned the business. He deleted "run-down", re-read his comment, and posted it.

The shower could be heard through the walls when Scorpius opened the door. He set the bag on the kitchen counter, then retrieved the other ingredients from the refrigerator. The box's contents were disappointing. The blueberries were in a tin and the pouch of pre-mixed powders seemed unhealthy, and perhaps unsportsmanlike (not that Scorpius cared much for sports). He pulled up the step-stool and set to cooking.

Breakfast was nearly done when the bedroom door opened. Scorpius caught the trailing end to his mother's statement, "... we could have stayed here longer."

Mr Malfoy was just behind, "I had to take care of Ollivander's collection last night, at least it gave us time today. Scorpius boards the train at eleven. I have to make the meeting in Constantinople after that."

Astoria made quick work through the jumble of boxes, "Istanbul. Make certain you record that receipt on both sides. And I didn't mean this week, I meant after our son," she was right behind Scorpius and grasped his shoulders as she pressed close to his back, "after our wonderful, pancake making son was born. Where did you get Scottish pancakes in London?" She was skeptical as she examined the box.

Draco was certain as he read the sheet of paper he'd lifted from the floor, "'Grocer's, two blocks east' - that place is a hole in the wall. I took care of Nocturn and Soho already. It's still Constantinople to these people ... or Constantinia. Back then, there would have been no room here for ... anyone else."

Mother hugged Scorpius tightly and kissed his head, "Ah, breakfast. We'll overlook the frightening prospect of you alone on the street seeing as you're safe in my arms." Despite what she said, and though she sounded sincere, Mrs Malfoy failed to completely mask her concern.

Scorpius felt guilty. It hadn't been very far, and it wasn't dark out. He was nearly twelve after all. And he knew not to go out alone **at night,** but it still struck him, "I'm sorry. And the blueberries were in a tin of syrup, so I'm not certain they're quite right."

Mrs Malfoy tore a small piece of pancake from the stack, "Pbbbt!" She savoured the piece and smiled as she sat at the table with her husband, "One does not turn down food made by someone else." The family chuckled together.

Scorpius retrieved bacon wrapped in a paper towel from the microwave. He put the plates of food on the small table, then set out the milk carton. "We ate the last of the melon and carrots yesterday." He sat across from his mother and started in on his own plate of food.

Mr Malfoy watched his phone. He briefly cracked a smile, "Good planning then." Scorpius smiled back, but his father was absorbed in whatever was on the mobile.

Astoria noticed and tussled her son's hair, "The box says scones, how'd you turn them into these?"

Scorpius took the box and pointed to the side, "There's al-ter-nate directions."

Without a break in his concentration, Draco inserted, "More milk, use a skillet."

If Draco were watching, he would have seen his wife level him a blistering gaze. Scorpius glanced at each of his parents as he ate. Astoria surrendered halfheartedly, still concerned with her husband's messaging. "This pre-packaged stuff is well and good every now and then, Hypie, but don't eat it every meal, or you end up humorless ... and alone." _Hypie,_ short for his middle name: Hyperion.

Whatever it was that had held Mr Malfoy's attention was finished. He put down the phone as it cycled off. Mother's eyes caught on the set aside mobile. Draco raised his eyebrows and asked, "Who's alone?" He turned towards his son who immediately put down his fork and swallowed. His father continued, "Did you hear that? Sounded like someone who went through university on take-in and ramen." Scorpius resumed eating along with his parents.

When they were done, Astoria stood, noted her watch, "C'mon, we can't be any later than ten thirty."

Draco stacked their plates together, "Ten thirty? It's nine. You didn't plan on us walking, did you?" He turned back briefly to pocket his phone.

Astoria bulged her eyes in mock surprise, " _I_ have to go out as 'Missus Malfoy'," She ticked off on her fingernails: "That means foundation, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, lip stick, lip liner, _and,"_ she yanked out the band that had held her disheveled ponytail, " _hair._ Not to mention the security check. And what are **you** doing to prepare?"

Scorpius, with the cups and flatware, and his father, with the dishes, were on their way to the sink. Once there, Mr Malfoy turned, his eyes up, as if in thought, "Shave?" he rubbed his chin, "Or should I grow my beard again?" Astoria scowled in response. Draco paused before continuing in a more serious manner, "It's a wizard's world. A man can don a robe and go."

The reply was a low growl. "You need your suit, mixed crowd today, or a formal robe, no black drapes with a hole cut out." Mrs Malfoy closed the bedroom door. Muted music started through the apartment wall. It was a dark and heavy orchestra piece Mrs Malfoy played at times like this. Scorpius hummed along as he rinsed and dried the dishes while his father washed.

After the last dish, Draco grasped the counter and faced his son, "I spoke to those we discussed. No one should be surprised."

Scorpius grinned and nodded without looking up from his work, "Thank you. I'm glad they understand." He tried to make a connection, "Was that who you were messaging?"

"No." Mr. Malfoy watched the wash water drain, he hesitated to continue, "They won't be surprised, I can't say they understand ... as I do."

Though his father was somber, the response cheered Scorpius, "Well, we can only count on Mother to understand as much as you do, Father." He turned and grinned at Draco.

An increase in the music's volume drew their attention to the open bedroom door. Astoria was fully made-up with her thick blond hair up and over to the back in a wave, "Well? What do you think?"

The "men" turned about to give their assessment. Draco stated dryly, "I think the slip is going to attract a lot of attention at King's Cross, but I'd hate anything that conceals those legs."

Mrs Malfoy stuck out her tongue, "Any serious opinions?"

Scorpius suppressed his mirth and cheerfully suggested, "I think your hair looks very elegant, like something Cissy would wear. You look like one of the ladies from her magazines."

Astoria gave a mock curtsey and spoke very formally, "Thank you, milord. I **do** think of how Grandmother would act on these occasions." She pivoted out of view, but left the door open.

The giggle subsided from Scorpius as he turned back to wash up then dry his hands with the towel from his shoulder. He hung the drying towel and used the wet dish rag to wipe the counter. "Father, will the other families act ... different without non-wizards about?" He looked to Draco when the reply was too long in coming.

Mr Malfoy deliberated internally for a moment and answered quite seriously, "We've discussed this, wizard families are not so different than others, but you mean do they have a ... _persona_ they adopt, as your mother puts it, 'getting into character'." Scorpius nodded. "No. Like everyone else, if they do anything different they do it without thought, and the results are careless. Have you changed your mind on how we go about it?"

Scorpius used the cleaning to focus his thoughts, "Mother and you are funnier at home." He took his time with the microwave. They had no plans to be back in London soon, and Father's office would be using the flat as a break room again come Monday. "I don't know that it's careless. Lila's mother knows she does it, but I still like our way better. I know how we really are with each other." Scorpius swung the rag over his shoulder then took the glass plate from the oven, it needed more soap to clean off the grease.

Caught up in his son's last comment, Draco absently ran his thumb across his still wet fingers. The music stopped. He reached his open hand to his son, but stopped short.

The sharp clack of high heels on the linoleum floor brought Scorpius to turn about and see his father's outstretched hand, "Oh, no, this one's dirty, Father. The dry towel is over here," He reached back and handed the towel over, unaware what his father had intended. "Mother's all ready and I've soaked my shirt." Scorpius shrugged and grinned sheepishly. He rung out the damp rag and laid it over the sink edge, rinsed his hands and used the clean part of his shirt to dry them. He made for his luggage and dressed again.

Mrs Malfoy, now in a dark green suit with a knee-length skirt, recognised what Draco had attempted. She carefully rushed through the clutter to her husband. Astoria leaned in and whispered, "You just put your arms around him and hold him tight and he holds you back and you feel so warm and loved and it can get you through anything and all you see is his future and how perfect and wonderful it will be." Astoria pulled back to look face-to-face with her husband, her eyes coated in a shimmer of tears.

Draco's eyes wandered as he spoke back in barely a breath, "I've missed too much. It's too late, he's too old."

She gritted her teeth, "No, not _him_ , not for us, never." Astoria's hold tightened as her voice cracked, "Draco, you aren't your father." She barely paused, "The phone, who-"

He came back to focus. The anger seeped into his hushed voice, "No, but I **am** his son." He clenched his hands and his wife released him, "I have to dress." Draco sped to the bedroom. He stumbled once and swayed through the narrow aisles, "What **are** all these boxes?"

Astoria glanced over her shoulder, anxious and discouraged, she replied, "Eight years' taxes. Inland Revenue claims they've gone electric."

Mr Malfoy called back, "Safety hazard, should fire our accountant."

Her arms crossed, Mrs Malfoy twisted about and responded with a sly grin and playful tone, "I believe that's called divorce."

Draco was already inside the bedroom and shouted back, "Call Stansfield, have him draw up the papers."

Scorpius snickered as he buttoned his vest. His mother could not help her own smile. She walked over to him and sat on the large trunk. Astoria addressed her son sincerely, "You know we love you?"

He was slightly confused, "Of course. I love you, too." Scorpius thought a moment, "I mean, I love you two, too - both of you - as well - also." They giggled despite themselves. "Is everything all right? Or is it something adult?"

His mother raised an eyebrow, "Your father was just helping me get into character, something you just ruined by the way." She pinched Scorpius' cheek. He felt a pang of guilt. He knew the change to go out in public was always hardest for Mother. Astoria saw his mood and reacted quickly, "I know, what would Narcissa do?"

It was a risky question. It hadn't even been a year, but it had been easier and easier to deal with for all of them. Mention of her shortly before hadn't even caused a stir. Before Scorpius could form a reply, Mr Malfoy emerged in a black suit, a long cloak draped over one arm, "Have the house-elf move the luggage to the limousine," He grabbed one handle of his son's large case, waved his fingers at Mrs Malfoy to move, then jerked his head to the door as he eyed his son. Astoria stood and Scorpius heaved up on the other end as his father continued, "Insist the driver go twenty under the limit and explain to Father that we'd have nothing to flaunt if we just apparated to the station." Astoria opened the door and held it. Draco went out, frequently checking behind him that his son could manage his end of the load. They made it down the hall, the stairs, and out to the street where their silver Mondeo was parked. They heaved the chest into the boot, then wiped the sweat from their respective brows. Draco slammed the lid, "Times have changed."

The ride to King's Cross was uneventful, though Draco had several choice phrases of colorful language for drivers that did not meet his exacting standards of awareness and haste. They parked across the street. The case would be easy enough to roll now.

"What is **she** -?" Mother started.

Father cut her off and reassured at once, "I'll see to it."

Scorpius saw several people outside the station, but only one stood apart. A blond woman in shabby clothes was neither coming nor going. She scanned passing travellers, then locked on the Malfoys.

Mr Malfoy started down the pavement towards this stranger. Mrs Malfoy stated coldly, "You see to her. I'll see to us." Mr Malfoy hesitated, then struggled a moment before he continued on his way.

Mother paid careful attention to the traffic to get them across the street. Scorpius could pay attention to nothing but his father meeting with this strange woman. The woman herself was in a similar predicament, looking from Mr Malfoy then to Scorpius and his mother nervously. The last thing Scorpius made out was his father stepping up to the woman and holding her off with an outstretched hand.

In the station, they proceeded to the check in. When Mr Malfoy caught up, Mrs Malfoy avoided looking at him, "Is that _done_ then?"

Mr Malfoy nodded grimmly.

The Malfoys, along with many others, stood in a cordoned queue as it shifted slowly forward. A guard with a black radio glanced them over when they reached a switchback. He flipped open a panel on the speaker. It shouldn't have opened like that. He peeked down, then just as quickly closed it. "Excuse me, you three, special inspection," The man released the band from the stanchion and gestured for the family to follow him. The other passengers examined the guard with a mix of contempt and relief.

The guard led the Malfoys to a small room closer to the platforms. Three other guards were in the room, though by how they adjusted themselves, they had only just arrived. Scorpius was unsettled, even though he had been warned to expect a screening (but what about that woman?) And he wasn't the only one who felt uncertain. Astoria pretended to inspect her nails, or preen her son's hair and clothes (anything but look at her husband). Meanwhile, Draco preyed on the anxiety of the guards, scowling at each of them in turn.

A man in a khaki uniform entered through the far door, "We'll have you on your way soon enough, young Mister Malfoy."

Scorpius had not expected to be addressed directly. It took a moment for him to respond, "Err, thank you, sir."

The man easily lifted the plastic trunk onto the table. The new guard produced a wand and cast a spell to open the chest. " _Alhomora._ Any pets, charmed items?" A blue light shone softly from behind the lid.

Mother answered, "No." Her voice cold and crisp.

Draco drawled, "I wonder ..." The others startled, their attention drawn from the open case. The gentleman, apparently in charge, fixed his glasses, but looked to Astoria and Scorpius before he settled on Draco. Mr Malfoy continued snidely as he scanned the guards, "Who has more to fear, those who've only heard the stories," he turned to the inspector, "or someone who was actually there?"

Silence took over the cramped room again. Each of the guards checked the location of their wands, shifted uncomfortably or swallowed dryly, but said nothing. The head guard held his wand casually and was not shaken in the least. He turned to his subordinates, "You four, go. Focus on exotic pet carriers, avoid comments on attire, stick to muggle words." Out of sync, they answered and left for the main station. The man adjusted his glasses and continued his spell with the soft blue glow, "Is it necessary to antagonize them?"

Mr Malfoy was terse, "Would they expect anything less, Mister Creevey?"

The inspection was swift (the inspector efficient, the luggage well-designed). When it was done, his parents donned their wizardly attire. Scorpius was careful to be polite in requesting a single book from his luggage before they continued on their way.

Scorpius was taken aback by the activity on the platform known as "nine and three-quarters". He had thought the difference between it and its unmagical neighbor would be the old-time design, the number of people in robes, or even the occasional spellcast. Instead, it was all the children. Not that wizards were the only people to bring children to the train station, but children were the **only** reason wizards came to King's Cross. And while the students ranged from eleven to seventeen, their younger siblings had not been left at home. Scorpius was not certain if it was the separation from the non-wizards, the concentration of youth, or the excitement of novelty that had the other boys and girls running about as if recess had just been called. All that, plus the blanket of steam, was a recipe for injury. Instinctively, he reached up for a parent's hand and clutched his "Hogwarts: A History" close to his chest. Without looking, he knew the calloused, yet smooth fingers were his father's. At the thought that Scorpius would not see his parents for another month he turned to take in their faces one more time. Draco was already looking down to his son. The corner of his mouth twitched in what each knew to take for a smile in public.

Astoria sighed. Father and son glanced to her, then to the object of her focus. It was the Chief Auror, Harry Potter, and his family. Ronald Weasley and his family were also there. THREE of the four great heroes! The gathering looked back at the Malfoys. Scorpius had never seen the Weasleys or Potters in real life before. All his racing thoughts and questions ceased with the tight squeeze of his hand by his father. The Malfoys turned away, and walked along the foggy platform to the train's front. Scorpius looked back at a boy's yell. He was slightly older, maybe in his teens, and had just exclaimed something about "snogging". It was a rather undignified outburst. It was only then that Scorpius noticed the Potter boy his own age. He chided himself that he already knew the Potters' second son would be in the same year. The mist became too thick to see that far. Scorpius faced the path before him, though his thoughts caught on how the Potter children would not have to worry about what other families thought of them, and certainly not about where they sorted.

Chapter 3 Derailed

Albus

While he'd rather (everyone) forget the book incident, Al couldn't stop thinking about how it started. It was rather strange to find out that his father was famous, and not because of Mum, or for his adult career, but for something that happened when he was only a year old. Not that it was really much that Mr Potter had done (survived the attack in which _his_ parents died). And, as Dad explained, the man responsible for the attack wasn't caught for seventeen years, and only then by an army of sorts (Dumbledore's, of course). To Albus, it was one thing for all those people to appreciate his dad for being an Auror, but this was ... Al didn't know what to think of it.

Then, there was the sorting issue. His brother James, their cousin Rose Weasley, well, **all** the Weasleys, their mother included, were for Gryffidor, and against Slytherin. They never spoke well of Slytherin, or anyone from it. Albus did not want to disappoint them (well, most of them). On the other hand, Phineaus and Wulburga were very much in favor of Slytherin. But then again, neither of them were really quite alive, as they were both animated portraits in Al's room (the actual people having passed on long ago). It came back to Al's father. He wasn't for or against Slytherin, or Gryffindor, or what anyone else thought about it. Even when Albus was about to leave on the Hogwarts Express, his father reassured Al by letting him in on a secret: Mr Potter had been offered a choice between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"Stansfield said five to a room!" The boy at the outside of the jumble turned on Al, "Who are you?" Like Al, he had short, black hair, but it wasn't neatly combed, and this boy was a little taller, thinner. The pointed jaw, upturned nose, and large ears made him look almost like a dog. The passage beyond was filled with people talking excitedly, some of them yelling as they moved in and out of the compartments.

It was a bit much to take in all at once. There was smoke along the ceiling and candy wrappers on the floor. "Uh, Albus, Al Potter. Where's Rose?"

Dog-face leaned forward and his brows rose, "Potter? Only one Potter a day, already let one through. This look like Min'stry welfare? Try again tomorrow!" The boy then turned and held fast to the railing and the opposite wall as he tried to chat up the girls pressed to the back of the car.

Al looked out the closed door behind him. The Hogwarts Express strained to move. Al could feel the tension of the train build through the floor of the car. Potter crouched a bit and leaned to his left. The train whistle screamed in the distance and the car lurched forward. Albus used it to lunge past the "guard". He grabbed after, but wasn't even as swift as James, and missed widely. Instead, his grasp snagged one girl's skirt. Her shriek drew a lot of attention which Al used to signal his intended path to others as he wormed through them. Dog-face wasn't completely distracted by the two girls attacking him, "Hey! Stop 'im, that's the new Potter."

There was no sign of James ( _fine_ ) nor Rose ( _not so fine_ ). At the corner turn to the front door of the car there was a gap free of people. The sudden loss of bodies pressed against each other caused Al to stumble to the ground. A delicate, dark hand offered him help. He looked up and saw the girl was quite slim overall, with wavy, brown hair pulled back tight, her eyes a lighter brown and slightly slanted. "Another Potter?" She cocked her head in curiosity.

Al pulled himself up with the rail, unsure if the girl's offer was realistic given her slight frame, "I was looking for Rose, Rose Weasley." Rose wouldn't have gone far. And Al had agreed they would ride to Hogwarts together (so long as Rose wouldn't bother Al about the not-quite-nicked book).

The girl grinned knowingly, "Weasley, Potter," she barely shook her head, "Not here."

A quick glance over the shoulder let Al see his pursuer had stopped, but watched on as if waiting on the conversation between the younger students to end. Al asked what he'd been asked on boarding, "And who are you?"

She blinked, bowed her head and made a partial dip as she held the sides of her robe out a bit, "Leilianaa," Lay-lee-ah-na, where had Al heard that name? She leaned forward and whispered, "Some last names are a burden." She barely breathed a single laugh as she withdrew, then announced, "They left with their headstudent, tall, red-hair, quite pretty. Can't expect Gryffindors to loiter with the riff-raff." Those nearby joined in her amusement (except for Al's pursuer). Leilianna's playful look became sharp after she moved aside for Al to continue on. "Help him get through the next car and watch **that** door. I don't imagine anyone you could stop is going to board at the rear now." The boy was reluctant, but did as he was told.

So, they'd met up with Victoire (their eldest cousin fit the description as the tallest and the prettiest among the Weasleys). The next car was also packed, noisy and, if Al had thought about it, oddly filled with students near his age. Only as he squeezed to the end of the second car did Al realise the age thing.

There were two older students (Vicky's age) in the car: the girl had a buzz-cut like Dennis Creevey's and the boy had jowls that would have looked more appropriate on Al's dog-nosed escort. They sat in the last room with an odd (even for wizards) chessboard between them. As the door closed behind Al, a magically projected voice came clear through the chatter. It was likely the older girl, "Cut the babble, line out while cap'ins pick." The announcement drew Al's attention back just as the door closed. He couldn't hear over the clatter and whine of the train on the tracks, but he expected to see the other kids line up. Instead, everyone but the dog-faced boy was gone into the cabins. He stared a moment, then shook off the confusion and went on his way.

People on the platform and train had stared ... at Dad. Well, Uncle Ron had said it was him, and Ron _had_ looked awfully odd today, but from what happened at Flourish and Blott's, it wasn't that.

The books ... Did they know more about his father than Al did? The _Erised_ one had been **just** about Dad's first year at Hogwarts (or so he'd been told, that was one of the only books that the Potter library **didn't** have). And there were so many more besides that one. Mr Potter and Uncle Ron had met on their first trip to Hogwarts. _FIRST TRIP! Ron, Rose's dad, you promised!_ Al ran to catch up.

As the Leilianna girl had suggested (" _their_ headstudent"), Al also thought Rose was going to end up in Gryffindor, all the Weasleys so far had. Well, maybe not Fleur, but ... did she go to Hogwarts? Albus always thought she was a Ravenclaw. They were the snooty ones with all the smarts (or so said Mr Shacklebolt when his daughter Athene was sorted there), and that fit his aunt Fleur. But then both her daughters and son were in Gryffindor.

Al scanned each room for red hair. He didn't notice the door that opened behind him.

"I'm telling you, that's her kid, too!"

"James looks more like 'er than him."

"Potters are just like Weasleys, all prats. C'mon."

The train was just like James had said: old-fashioned with a passage to one side and coaches to the other, room for six per coach (though Ron told him it was really four seats each). None of that helped him find Rose. A boy in an oversized flannel shirt and tight jeans was stopped in front of Al, startled but smiling brightly. He was Al's size, but his face was a dark reddish-brown. He was so tan, his teeth sparkled in contrast. In his outstretched hand was his invitation (complete with a neatly opened envelope). Both it and what he said were ... something else. It wasn't English, maybe Spanish or Italian, Al wasn't sure. From what he knew of French he got the ideas of "year", "seat" and "castle". Al tried to answer, "Si, c'est traino correcto..." _What language was_ _ **that?**_ "You can sit anywhere." Al weakly pointed at several rooms, smiled and mimed sitting. Maybe that looked more like he meant a toilet? _None of those rooms had Rose though,_ thought Al to himself. The boy nodded, smiled, and Al hoped "gracias" was like "merci" and not "gratis". Albus figured the rooms were free of charge, but wasn't sure how he'd explain that.

Al was halfway through the train. The first room of the next car had a teenage boy in an unusual, white robe. He leaned against the window, talking to the six girls seated on either side. They seemed enraptured by whatever he said, or perhaps they just had to pay attention to avoid his rapid and wild hand gestures. There was no one of notice in the second room. The third ...

"ALBIE! Got no room for first years here," his brother declared.

"That your lil' brudder, Potter? Looks more like your da' than you!" This came from a boy who Al thought must be Jeremy MacPhearson, he was a giant, even for a sixteen year-old. Albus had heard about him being a great Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a position also held by their captain (and James' and Al's cousin), Fred Weasley. Jeremy's short hair did nothing to diminish his enormity.

"Yeah, but he hits a bludger like a girl," James laughed.

"A girl? Um, Potter, your mum's still the 'Ricochet' Potter, right?" one of the other boys, Crassick Delaney, another Chaser like Al's brother, said with disbelief. He and the others laughed as James grimaced. The two other boys weren't on the Quidditch team, and Al had never heard of nor met them otherwise.

"Alright, you guys." James, though he was the youngest and only just made it into the upper league team, caused the other four to stifle their laughter. "And you, move on! Go catch up with Vicky and Rosie, she's a first year, too, she can afford to be seen with the snaky likes of you, Aspie." The others erupted again, thought Al suspected that was over the previous joke at James' expense, rather than with him.

The next car was more helpful. One room was very easy to notice as Fred was likely the only Hogwarts student with an orange afro. He, his sister Rox, and their cousins Molly, and Louis were all together (where was Dom?). Al barged in and caught the tail end of what Molly said, "...be fine. She's as beautiful as her mother and as tough as her father. Al!"

Fred wore a sleeveless shirt (to better show off his muscled arms) and was quick to stand and hug his cousin, "Hey, Al, heard you could hook me up with some cheap books! Never read, only flown once!" He pushed Al to arms length, then flapped his hands like a bird. Albus slapped his cousin's hands to stop the taunt, but Fred decided to start a play fight, instead.

Roxanne, Fred's sister, wasn't amused, "Don't tease him, Fred! He's just used to taking anything from Dad's. Which Percy was right, someone was bound to get in trouble." Fred and Rox were much darker than the other Weasleys, though neither was as dark as their mother, Angel. Some family similarities were more common, as both Louis and Fred had the long, thick arms like the rest of the Weasley men. Also, Rox and Molly had round faces with light brown freckles on their cheeks, like Gran.

Fred sat back down, "Yeah, but my money was always on James with the trouble he got in at Hearthholme."

"No, no!" Louis waved his hand and shook his head. His hair was a pink-blond color, long and straight like his mother's. "You said before, Rose, and I agree. Rose is the one who calls the rules when she loses, but fouls brooms to win." Louis' accent was 'Frenchier' as his sister Dom put it. He had some hereditary problems when he was young and spent a few years with his grandparents in France. Al laughed at how Louis **still** hadn't gotten over Rose cheating in a Quidditch match at the Burrow over the summer. She had used a belt to tug Louis' broom down when he tried to block a goal by her little brother, Hugo. It had been the only score Hugo made, but turned out to be the winning one. "But non- NO, this is Potters for you, school brawls and stolen books." Louis failed to manage a stern expression, and cracked up at his own teasing. The girls, having been ever-so-serious before, also joined in the laughter.

Al thought it was funny, too, but he couldn't stand that everyone thought poorly of him, "I didn't think about it. It just ... well, yeah, ... I thought it was like George and Ron's place." Everyone laughed even louder. Al was glad to avoid why it had really happened.

Fred wiped at his eye, "Ah, yeah, well, did anyone have Albus pegged for Slytherin?"

It was odd, Roxanne and Fred were both mature, responsible types when the family was all together, but away, Fred was a lot funner and funnier. Rox, on the other hand, would get even more serious, "Freddie! Don't even!" She huffed a sigh, "James has been going on about that too much as it is! He was already awful since getting to Hogwarts and only got worse since you bumped him up to your team. Got MacPhearson and Delaney star-struck and mental at his side. And that's all about his mother and father, **not him!** Al, don't listen to your brother. You, Louis, and me will be just fine in the underclass team together, and we'll only have to put up with an undeserving captain for a year when we make upper-class."

"Undeserving? Wood handpicked me." Fred was mockingly offended.

Molly, mild and sure, put in her word, "Don't worry about what anyone says about your sorting, Albus. The hat might even give you a choice like it did me. I'm sure Harry and Ginny will be proud of you no matter what."

Fred made a dumb face and added in a nasal voice, "James won't, my dad won't, Ron won't ..." The girls glared at Fred, who continued (in his normal voice), "So, just the dimwit Weasleys won't be happy 'bout it." He resumed his broad smile and chucked Al on the arm. Molly rolled her eyes while Rox scrunched up her lips, fighting back the grin towards her brother.

Then Roxanne startled, "Family! Don't just jaw about it the whole way in here. Victoire and Rose were just here. Rose was so excited the two of you were going to ride the Express together. She's saving you a seat ..." Rox's enthusiasm faded, " ... somewhere." Her eyes bulged and she threw up her hands as if she _had_ known, but forgot.

At her side, Molly nodded, "Right, at three quarters she was talking to the Finnegan boy and that friend of hers from Godric's." Before Al could turn, Molly had him in a tight hug, "You're gonna be a real wizard now. You've grown up so fast!"

The eldest among them acted taken aback, "Like you're so old. _You're_ only fifteen, Mol! You can't even drive."

His sister kicked her legs out at him, "You're not supposed to!"

"I've a permit! I can drive with an adult in the car."

Louis had been in thought for awhile, "It should be 'you, Louis, and I'."

"What?"

Al took the moment of confusion to resume his search for Rose. The argument behind him fell back into laughter, and Al took comfort that no matter what else happened, he could look forward to a lot of gatherings like that at Hogwarts.

Several more cars and no Rose. No Rose, lots of people that weren't Rose ... a human obstacle in blue. "It" took up the entire passageway. It turned on Al, and bumped him back. The man's body, like his face, was also large and round, his hair short, curled, and blond. "Excusez-moi, parlez-vous français?" _Excuse me, do you speak French?_ Al was sure of that much. Fleur might have been proud of him.

"Non, je ne parles pas français," Al replied. He didn't want to reveal how much (or how little) he actually knew.

The frenchman (frenchboy?) looked like he was a teenager. He was larger but less muscular than MacPhearson. His outfit was a cross between a sailor's uniform and a business suit. He looked at Al quizzically. Al had just answered "no, I don't speak French" ... in French.

"Sont sièges attribués? Par année ou à l'arrivée?" "Seats" (again), "years"? OK, Aunt Fleur wouldn't be so proud. "The seats, they are set, no? By year? Arrival?"

 _Oh, accented, but English._ "NO!" maybe Al was too excited at understanding. "We can sit wherever we want." _Well, you can,_ he thought, _I have to find my cousin... the right one this time._

"Then after you." The large teen gestured to the room Al had just confirmed had one person, a very not-Rose person. "I am Andre, we ride to Hogwarts together." _Tell him 'no'. 'No', it's so easy for Dad, Mom, James, even Lily. Just, 'no'._ Andre opened the door, the blond boy from that uptight looking family on the platform looked up from his book. _'No', just say 'no'._ Both had their eyes on him now.

An odd, female voice interrupted Al's thoughts, "Excuse me, is there seating available in this room?" Al hadn't seen her on his way forward, she must have come from ahead. The woman was stout, dressed in a plain, black suit, her hair looked like it had been tied in a knot on the back of her head; her expression was serious and intimidating.

"Uh, yes." Al answered, for even one more if he could get his say. Why was this woman riding the train? A new professor? How could she not have found a seat already? There was something about her voice, the accent, American maybe? The only new professor was supposed to be a goblin. _Are American goblins_ _ **much**_ _taller?_ _Is there such a thing as "American goblins"?_ Maybe this woman was the excuse Al needed to continue on and not offend anyone. Too late, he found himself pressed into the cabin by Andre, back up to the window. And the woman ... ushered someone in front of her, but stayed in the passage herself.

The girl's hair was short, sleek, and black. It cut a sharp line over her eyebrows while two strips of hair framed her face on each side. The rest of her hair was pulled back tight into two pig tails high and to the sides of her head, curling under themselves. Her skin was light brown, her eyebrows thin and sharp.

"Problem?" She snapped at Al. It was more a challenge than a question. She glared at Al and he slid back into the seat as far as he could. She sat at the window next to the other young boy (someone at Kings' Cross had called him "Scorpius"). There was something different about the shape of her eyes, or maybe it was just that they were so dark they looked black. Andre had taken the seat across from Scorpius (if that really was his name), while Al had ended up in the seat across from the girl. He looked back at the woman, but she had closed the door and stood outside, her back to them. Meanwhile, the cabin's original occupant had returned to reading his book. The girl was intent on the window, her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow on the window frame.

Andre spoke up, "We should make known ourselves. My name is Andre, and I am from Beauxbatons Academy in France. You gentlemen both are from England though, yes?"

The other boy barely raised his head and eyebrows, "Scorpius Malfoy, and yes, I am from England." The polite tone wasn't at all what Albus had expected from the many stories he had heard from the Weasleys about Draco and Lucius Malfoy. Was this the boy from the family Ron had pointed out on the platform? He had **just** said he was a Malfoy.

"Yea, I'm from here, ... uh, Al." He didn't want to say "Potter" keeping in mind the reactions from earlier. He wondered if Andre had left off his last name for a similar reason. Potter was his mother "the Ricochet" and sports anchor Potter, and his father "the boy who lived" ( _Who came up with_ _ **that?**_ ), the Chief Auror. After the bookstore, and how Dog-face acted and what that Leilianna girl had said, he wasn't sure what these people would think about the name "Potter".

Andre was either nervous or excited, it was hard to tell the difference with a stranger, "Hogwarts is quite a prestigious school. You two may take for granted your invitations, but I am quite proud to be selected, especially part of the program of exchange. And you, young lady, you are from the American States?" No reaction. "I am quite interested in differences in academic approach, what is emphasized? Individual performances or team's work? Talent or determination? Paperwork or class participation? I do not know," Andre smiled and continued.

But Al's thoughts were about how the girl's bow-tie was out of place with the rest of her outfit. It was bright red in contrast to the dark grey blazer and skirt, white shirt and grey/beige house badge ( _Is it a house badge? She's too young for a prefect!_ ).

"WHAT?" She barked. He'd been staring. And he had been caught. While Andre had droned on about the wonder and mystery that is Hogwarts, Al had been compelled to look at this new source of curiosity.

"I was only in saying that I look forward to us sharing our experiences a week from now, or even after that," Andre responded.

 _Oh, not me,_ thought Al, _oh good._

Her words came out rapid and sharp, "I seriously doubt a few middle-schoolers are going to be hanging out with a junior or senior going on about the finer details of their academic and social lives at this school or any other." Even the Malfoy boy broke from his reading to pay heed to the girl's near growl. Al had only ever heard his grandmother Weasley do something like that with her voice (at least, without magic). Al failed to notice when the woman in the passage glanced into the cabin. The girl went back to gazing out the window again. Her scowl frightened Al, but he was still fascinated.

Andre countered (though not confidently), "Middled school? Both Beauxbatons and Hogwarts are considered very highly and I am named not for my father, and have no son, indeed."

With a roll of her eyes, the angry face was replaced with a smug grin. Al didn't dare grin himself, Scorpius, likewise, seemed uncomfortable. Five or six years younger and she had this teenager, nearly an adult, confused and on the defence.

Scorpius clarified, "Middle school refers to secondary school in America. Juniors and Seniors are those near graduating." Malfoy sounded annoyed (and more like the tales of his family).

Al saw his chance to jump in, "And Americans go to magical schooling at ... five?" Someone ( _a cousin, really smart ..._ ) had told him this bit of trivia when they each received their invitations to Hogwarts. The French school started and graduated a year earlier, but this was not the time to show an interest in France. There was something about the other European school, Durmstrang, but Albus hadn't been paying much attention.

Dejectedly, Andre inserted, "Oh, well, that is ... just, I would want to be talking with someone and again, it is unfortunate. Ouì, I forget that common are divisions here. We must be separate from the magical races and, how do you say, 'muggles'."

The girl turned back, but, perhaps out of fear for his own head being removed in the crossfire, Scorpius preempted warily, "'Un-illuminated', 'mundanes', 'normals'."

She made an 'O' with her lips. They were shiny and pink. _Was she wearing lipstick?_ Al quickly berated himself, was he really thinking about her lips? He quickly blamed James' outburst at King's Cross about Teddy and Victoire snogging.

"So sorry, maybe you can find some muggles to chat it up with?" she was quieter, but her words dripped with sarcasm. Silence took over the cabin. Andre fidgeted and squirmed in his seat, but said nothing. Malfoy read his book, Al tried to look at anything except the American girl, but it was like when Luna was wearing one of her ridiculous hats. The girl watched the passing countryside and became quite serene in contrast to her outbursts.

What HAD he forgotten? ( _someone would know, someone smart ..._ )

Almost an hour passed in relative quiet. Andre resumed, "But, as I was saying," The girl clamped her eyes shut a moment in reaction. "Hogwarts itself is uh, isolated and the additional internal separations..."

Al could do it, too. He could talk over someone for once, "You've already gone to magic school since you were five then?" He'd done it. And it looked like she was going to answer. Andre seemed just as interested in the response as Al.

"Yes." Without turning her head, she blinked in Al's direction, then resumed staring at the afternoon landscape. "We study, uh, well, it doesn't matter. I'll only be here a year, a school year at that." Was she sad about that? The scenery was mostly towns and highways. But she was locked on the view, as dull as it was.

The American woman opened the door and allowed room for the food cart vendor. "A sandwich and a drink, Samantha," she stated firmly. The girl nodded obediently. The boys each paid for their own food (Malfoy had his coins in a paper envelope), while it seemed the American's food had been paid for in the hall. Al choked on his laughter as he watched the others begin to eat. Al didn't know if it was the woman's command, or just routine, but everyone ordered **A** sandwich and **A** drink. The girl also noticed that everyone had obeyed the order meant for just her. She rolled her eyes and nodded to Al in acknowledgment as she chewed. The woman with her had probably caused this reaction before.

Several hours passed in relative quiet. Farms and villages replaced the more modern sites, then grazing fields, wild meadows and forests. Andre finally worked up his determination again, "But the purpose of this exchange program is for us to learn from each other, the differences in our-"

The girl tugged at her tie and shirt collar as she turned and stated calmly, "We learn all the real life stuff: math, reading, science, and history, well, comparative history, you know, real history _and_ the stuff the normals learn, but side by side." Andre relaxed from his huff which reduced her motivation to continue. She trailed off, "and then basics of reality manipulation, alteration, elements, applications and forms." She turned back to watch the darkening view.

Al hoped he could get her to talk some more, "What house are you, or, where are the exchange students going ... which house will they be in? You're already in a house at Ilvermony, Samantha?" The woman had at least given them the girl's name.

"Do I look like a Silverhoney?" She flicked one of the dangling strips of her jet black hair dismissively. "And what houses?!" She was indignant. "I thought this place was a castle, some medieval monument to Merlinism and magic royalty." This time the wrath was directed at Al (though not as strong as before), and it destroyed all the confidence he had built up.

Andre, however, had found his courage (to talk at least), "He means the four houses, like four guilds, four 'fraternite' within Hogwart's castle." She arched her eyebrow and made one eye appear larger, akin to the main character Moody in the comic "Eye on You". Andre braved on, "Godric Gryffindor, Salathzar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff set up their houses to encourage defense of the weak, exercise of power, creativity in magic, and unity in spirit, how do you say, respectly." Not that Al often caught errors, but he was pretty sure Andre meant "respectably".

Maybe Al hadn't lost everything, "It IS a huge castle. I've been there a bunch." He felt some sympathy for Andre. They were both trying to regain ground in their own way.

She shifted away again, her ire lost. "Is it always so green here?" she asked wistfully. Her eyes reflected the dark red of the eastern sky. Al and Scorpius exchanged confused looks, while Andre settled back, annoyed at yet another distraction from his topic of choice. "I didn't get to go home this summer. Didn't get to leave the desert. I miss Gloucester ... the river ... "

"The Severn?" Malfoy inquired in disbelief. It brought Samantha back from the fading landscape.

She looked back, not quite meeting Malfoy's eyes, "Uh, no, guess it's a city here, too. There are a few Gloucesters in the States, 'cept _our_ Severn's in Maryland ... I think. But, uh, I meant the Delaware. Between _New_ Jersey and Philly." She traced along the window, and her eyes caught the crimson glow again. "The country here is even better ... it's like the _nice_ parts of Jersey." She smiled, biting her lower lip as she snorted a small chuckle, "But the Academy is in Nevada and ... despite the name, 'Groom Lake'," the name was said in a much deeper voice, and Al got the idea it was to mock someone, "there's no water, much less a lake." She blinked hard and turned back, her eyes glossy black again, "What 'house' are you two in? You're local 'n' all."

Scorpius snapped his book closed on his hand without looking up. Al noticed and stepped in, "Everyone in my family goes to Gryffindor. My brother and all my cousins are there." Something about _cousin_ nagged at him _._

"Your great-great-grandmother was in Slytherin." Said Scorpius tentatively, his eyes still downcast.

Al and the girl shared quizzical looks, but she spoke first, "How do ... do you two know each other?" She cocked her head to the side. Al was momentarily distracted by how her pig tails seemed unaffected by her movement.

Scorpius and Al shared looks, this time discomfort. "No," in unison. The question, or the synchronous answer, made both too shy to say any more. Samantha looked to each of them, but they avoided eye contact.

Andre filled the gap, cautiously, "Uh, Albus' father, well, there are books, and, many have read ... they go into ... the history is very detailed. Fame spares little."

 _Great,_ Al thought, _France, maybe all of Europe, knows who Dad is, too!_ It had been interesting before with strangers, now it was people he wanted to know (well, two of them, anyway). Al was at least grateful for the politeness of this explanation. "Which, well, what Weasley or Potter was in Slytherin?" He had a hard time imagining Granny Weasley cackling fiendishly as she made up new curses and poisons, unless they dealt with scolding her sons and grandsons (or cooking, but not _fiendish_ cooking). _Was Severus Snape somehow related to the Potters?_

"Dorea Black," Scorpius answered anxiously.

"Oh, my room used to be Regulus Black's!" Al responded excitedly.

The girl's jaw dropped and she blurted out, "Wait! HE knows which of YOUR long passed grandmothers went to which sorority and YOU don't?" Both boys sniggered a little, even Andre appreciated the humor of the situation. It was much easier to accept when the silliness of it all was pointed out. "Who's your father that he's had books written about him?" That easy feeling didn't last long.

"Uh, it's, I'm Albus Severus Potter, and my father is Harry James Potter." That said, Al figured it was all clear. Scorpius and Andre already knew, now everyone knew.

"Harold Potter?"

OK, maybe not everyone. Maybe people from America _didn't_ read much, as someone claimed ( _a cousin of his, one of the smart ones ..._ ). Samantha looked around for clarification. Then something seemed to click, "Oh! The kid, the anagram-Voldermort guy! Britain's Two 'Wizard Revolts'?" Now she had the look of a pleased student who had the correct answer (not that Al was sure her answer was quite correct or not). That look faded with the boys' shared expressions of unease. She tried to salvage it, "But, so you," she pointed at Scorpius, "read books about his family," then indicated Albus," and of course you didn't bother reading books about your _own_ father." Everyone seemed only a little more relaxed, and Al didn't want to admit he had only **just** discovered there were books, so many books, about his family. "I'm _Sam_ ," She rolled her eyes at the door, "from G-L-A, the Gloom, ha, Groom Lake Academy. I'm really not the Ilvermony type." Then she looked at the ceiling, as if trying to think up the answer to an unasked question, "Uh, Defense as stone, power in fire, creativity as a river, and unity under the sky." The introduction and the weird statements that followed wiped away the awkwardness of her previous comments and instead left the boys confused. "What are their colors?" Sam had clearly moved on from the subject of families, "These 'houses'?" She craned her neck and looked at them like they were idiots for not following.

Al jumped in with what he knew, "Gryffindor's gold and red."

Scorpius followed suit, "Silver and green for Syltherin. Yellow and black for Hufflepuff." He looked to Andre.

She turned to Andre, too, and Al smirked at how the passing warning light reflected red in her eyes at just that moment, "Bronze and blue of Ravenclaw." He said it quickly, unnerved by this girl a fraction of his size. She seemed disappointed and turned back to the window letting out a long breath that briefly fogged a patch on the window. The boys were bewildered at her quick changes in attitude.

She started again, thoughtfully, her eyes on the floor, "Then, if ... if, defense could also be chivalry, bravery, so, a hearth fire ... and wind could be knowledge, rock for loyalty, but it'd also be for labor, maybe 'servitudiness' or whatever. Water I guess, constant flow of power? Water for ..." and she turned to Scorpius, "Is there something about purity in Slithering?"

Malfoy replied warily, "Slytherin, not as much as thought, but ... yes."

Albus wondered if this quiet, calm boy was the son of the monster Lucius Malfoy that Al's mother, uncles, aunts, their family and friends hated so much? (Or was it Draco that was his father's age?)

As if that made it all fit for her, "Then rain for purity." Sam looked about as if for verification and received nothing but blank looks "Or depths for secrecy, I don't know." She sighed in surrender and leaned her head on the glass and watched the blackened night sky.

"Five minutes to Hogwarts, please prepare yourselves." The elf on the loudspeaker made Samantha wince and she stroked one of her small pigtails. Maybe her head was cold from the glass? Scorpius stood and produced a neatly folded robe from inside his seat. Al bemoaned not even knowing where his owl or luggage was.

Scorpius reassured Albus, "It's under you, the elves tend to the train and match belongings to student seating. I'm not sure about animals. If you went through the security check instead of the platform barrier they even load the luggage for you."

Scorpius was right, much to Albus' relief (he did **not** remember loading his trunk), and he retrieved his bundled up robes and put them on as Scorpius had. Hadn't someone already put their robes on at King's Cross? ( _a cousin..._ )

Sam glanced at both, then Andre, "Well?"

"I am in my school uniform," he smiled broadly," I thought it best to represent Beauxbatons at the outset."

"Me, too, I guess, but _representin'_ GLA was totally not my point." Sam responded.

The train slowed with the whine of metal on metal as the brakes engaged. Al noticed the girl's attention on him just as his face dropped and his eyes screwed shut. "Rose." ( _... one of the smart ones_ ).

Chapter 4: Treacherous Waters

Sam(antha)

The Potter boy pulled his fingers down his cheeks as he groaned. The blonde one, Malfoy, placed his book in a chest under his seat. Sam stretched her neck back and forth as she observed the nineteenth-century train landing. Andre stood and blocked any possible exit. "Good luck to you all," He smiled broadly, "Do not let anyone scare you of the lake squid or kelpies, I am told they are quite polite." So excited, so eager, he edged past the "guard" in the passage, "Oh, excusez-moi, madame." She stepped to the left leaving open the shortest route off the train.

That reedy voice came over the public address system, "Please, all students leave your luggage on board and it will be transported to main school, then house of sorting. Bird pets are to owlery, others with baggage." It sounded like someone had enchanted a cat to speak and then tried to strangle it back into silence.

A deep bellow came from outside. It could be heard loud and clear **without** speakers, "All returning students to the coaches, first years and exchange students wait on tha platform." Sam could tell Al was comforted by the booming voice, though not enough to smile about it. Scorpius half ran out. Sam waited to follow her handler to the exit.

Upon stepping down, the woman turned and pulled her charge to the side, "You behave yourself, Samantha. There's only one magic school in Great Britain, don't be shocked if the Kingdom's subjects expect the same of their bastard progeny. Also, be warned that people use full, even _last_ names here. Now, I need to meet our contact," the woman pointed threateningly at Sam who responded by standing straight and adjusting her uniform. She was already in trouble after she mocked her escort over standing in the hall for so long, not knowing the first car was the only one with assigned seating ( _good thing those girls had come along_ ). She didn't want to risk eye contact now.

Some of the other exchange students stood out along the platform: Andre was a blue crest in a sea of black robes. Another figure was in white with a headdress. He moved in and out of the crowd, striving diligently to the east end of the platform. The boy in brand new, yet ill-fitting normal clothes, held close to the train, moving to the front until he was blocked by a clutch of students. There were six girls and a boy, in what Sam had seen was the local school uniform (a black drape, _h_ _ow imaginative!_ ) They seemed to be comforting the one kneeling between them.

"It's a long train. He must have been caught up when it started moving, Rose. You'll see. I cannot walk two steps without tripping on the stairs." It was the older girl from before. She was tall; her hair was red with gold highlights, even paler than the blond boy from Sam's cabin. She wore a red/gold tie and a silver badge. She was **gorgeous** , and Sam hoped she really was clumsy, but highly doubted it. Her accent was slightly similar to Andre's, but it was less annoying from her.

The second girl was not as concerned. "He's a boy, it's his first year, and there wouldn't have been room for Sean if he HAD found you. C'mon, Rose, get it together. Did you use up all your nerve at King's Cross?"

The heavily freckled boy was not sympathetic at all, "C'mon, Weasley, just ... let's get to the skimmers." The eldest girl and one other looked at him disapprovingly.

The others didn't say anything Sam could hear. It didn't make sense, that would have been seven in the cabin, the rooms held six, tops ( _even less if one of them was a giant, blue marshmallow_ ).

Getting closer, Sam recognized the skinny girl with the red-brown ponytail had been in that group of girls on the train, too. She wiped at her eyes. "Thank you, Victoire," to the supermodel chick, then, to the other (kinda helpful) friend, "You weren't even there, Mattie. He promised. I promised. It's our first year. Mum felt so alone on her first 'Express'. I just didn't want Albus to go through that. I know him ... he's not strong like James, or Uncle Harry. He's quiet, shy. What if I left him alone and he ended up next to some awful Sly-," she paused as an older girl, her shirt and vest with green and silver trim, and a silver badge (like the one on the Victoire girl) slowed down. She looked severe, with her buzz-cut hair and sharp features. Three other students of varying ages accompanied her, all glared at Rose in anticipation. Rose stood and swallowed, "some awful slime-balls." Some of the passing group scoffed at the awkward correction.

Sam enjoyed the near confrontation. She shook her head slowly and pursed her lips. "Rose," she snorted derisively. Back to the matter at hand, she inspected the area. The Guatemalan farm boy in his fresh attire wasn't getting past that gaggle anytime soon, not with as cautious yet excited as he was (may not be used to crowds). Sam spotted her government-appointed handler as she talked to a ripped guy with thick glasses. He examined the paperwork then returned it to the manila envelope, looked about, nodded curtly, and moved beyond Sam's sight. He was dressed like a nurse assistant, or one of those security area janitors, in a crisp, well-fit, khaki uniform. She grimaced. He was the contact, or some courier thereof.

The self-absorbed French boy in his sailor suit was with the Arab who wore traditional thoub and kuba, a neatly rolled carpet ( _flying, prayer, or both?_ ) under arm. The two were beside a bearded hulk dressed in tattered layers. He was nearly nine feet tall, and only marginally narrower than that. He made Andre look tiny. On the other side of the behemoth was a pair of Chinese women in black. One was like her chaperone's twin: stout, unattractive, cheap suit ( _the favorite of government functionaries everywhere_ ). The girl, clearly the student, wore a much nicer silk combo dress-suit-robe. She was kind of pretty, but other than the shine of the fabric, did not standout. Everyone in black ... Sam imagined what could be done in the laundry room with a bottle of bleach. She giggled. _Focus, Sammy!_ The Ukrainian would likely have robes like the British, or maybe a uniform more like the boys back home, but he may not be obvious unless she heard him. The Haitian girl might have been easier to spot, except there were more students of African heritage than Sam had anticipated in Britain.

Samantha scolded herself for her lack of control. She had trouble with so much mental noise, so many people, though less so on the platform. She had been all over the charts back on the train. It was easier when everyone had gotten bored or dozed off after lunch. Focusing on the terrain had helped. It really had reminded her of home, of time with her mom.

"Samantha." Abruptly, her handler stood in front of her. Sam ceased her scan and reined in her thoughts. "You will be riding on the boats to the castle. I will arrive ahead of you on board the coaches to arrange my accommodations and ... to review addenda to the paperwork. It will take some time. Follow the school staff directions as if you were at G.L.A." Sam nodded obediently.

"I ... uh, Sara, ma'am?" She ventured uncertainly.

"Miss Skein. What is it?"

"Miss Skein, will I be put in one of the houses, like ... everyone else?" She was unsure how to address the woman, under these circumstances. They were to play governess and ward on the plane, like they had money or something, _HA!_

The response was rehearsed, "You will follow all protocols applied to the students of Hogwarts during your attendance here, including any system of grouping." Sara Skein was so cold. It frustrated Sam to no end, but it was something her mother had assured her it was something Sammy would just have to tolerate. If only it could be Sam's mother standing before her, this would have been so much easier.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam confirmed. Sara departed for the horseless carriages ( _Not cars, literal_ _ **horseless**_ _carriages!_ ) A duet of high-pitched whines behind Sam signaled the Rose/Albus reunion. He must have continued forward along the train despite everyone else getting out. He had somehow missed Rose. Sam was about to focus her attention when a roar commanded all attention to the platform's north end.

"ALRIGHT, all first years over here!" The ragged gargantuan handled what looked like a toothpick for him. A soft, thick wire light flowed out of it forming a sign: FIRST YEARS. "Err, and exchange students." He seemed to entertain magicking up this phrase as well, but must have thought better of it.

As Sam moved forward, she tried to listen in on the voices (and feelings) behind her. Rose spoke first, "Victoire saved us seats, even Mattie and you, and it's **your** father who says one of you has to stay put for a proper search to work. What happened? I called Rox on her mirror and she said you'd passed them."

 _Disappointed, concerned ... Wait, an eleven year-old with her own magic mirror?!_

Then Albus, "This French bloke nabbed me, then, I don't ... sorry."

 _Guilty, evasive._

The majority of students had already walked off to the wagons or coaches or whatever. All the other students followed the ill-dressed monstrosity. The skin was wrong for a troll, but maybe he had giant in his background, hairy enough to be an ogre, or perhaps the subject of a growth experiment never quite reversed. He was clearly excited, his anticipation building. He acted just like a kid, though an even mix of gray and black hair said he was long past his actual youth. All Sam could see ahead was a fog-covered lake with dim lights beyond. They rose high, but there were no details through the dense mist. The man navigated the long, shallow steps more easily than his size should have allowed. "We got more'n enough room, so no more than four to a skimmer, 'cept Professor Hagrid," he turned and smiled broadly, "for some reason they make me ride by me-self," This was received with a good deal of snickering.

 _Same joke every year,_ Sam guessed, but a new audience kept it from ever getting old. _Wait, this guy was a professor? What did he teach: wrestling of pit fiends, dragons?_ Sam kept up, but was absorbed in her observations. There were about eighty students in all, with twenty-five small crafts at the landing beneath them. Equal or near equal ratio of male to female, predominantly European descent, about a third from obviously African, Asian and other backgrounds, close to equal among the local ... whatever the British called their normals ( _muddles?_ ) not as diverse as the States ( _and NOTHING like Philadelphia_ ).

Sam came to a stop when she realized she was only a foot behind Albus and Rose, unnoticed by either as they continued forward. _Focus, Sammy, more than one situation at a time, assess broadly, work to details and back to area_. She moved off the path to give herself some distance and a better vantage.

There was no visually apparent grouping on the individual vessels save two. The Chinese girl (now, like Sam, sans chaperone) politely maneuvered onto a small, shallow skiff assisted by Andre. Across from them was a starkly white boy with neat, black hair and bright blue eyes. His deep red attire was a mix of uniform and robes, like pictures Sam had seen of Eastern Orthodox clerics. Presumably the Durmstrang student, he scowled at his wide-framed peer and the futile attempt to seat the young lady in the narrow gap next to him. Eventually, the Ukraine's patience reached its limit. He snapped to his feet, gently handled her to the uncrowded seat beside him and stared menacingly at his French counterpart. _Only three to that boat, Professor_ , Sam thought smugly. On another boat, the Egyptian and Guatemalan sat with a dark-faced figure in the Hogwarts-style robes ( _Is plain black a 'style'?_ ). The Haitian girl had been prepared to blend in. She took no notice of Sam. Sam figured herself to be the assumed "fourth" in that group.

Then her concentration broke. Al yelled out, "Sam, Scorpius, c'mon, I'm sure it can take a couple more." Potter had gone several boats down. He turned back to help Rose on board while freckle boy from earlier leaned over the prow. The boy (Stan?) was more intent on the watery path ahead than the effort behind him.

 _Scorpius?_ Sam cringed and made a sidelong glance over her shoulder. That blond boy that had been next to her on the train was behind her, a little higher on the grassy incline, also assessing the selection of remaining seats. In her attempt to focus ahead, she had lost track of behind. Just the one nearby boat beside the professor's remained entirely empty as others were full or filling up. Was Scorpius intent on that one? She couldn't read him. The look on his face revealed he had not noticed her until that moment either. He raised his eyebrows, bowed slightly and awkwardly motioned for her to proceed. His blank emotional state distracted her from the polite gesture.

Rose settled in and looked over the two newcomers. She wasn't crying anymore, if there _had_ been any real tears to begin with. She looked composed, smiling. Her face was more lightly freckled, and pale. _The plants here indicate more sunshine than the skin tones do._ She was in the process of redoing her ponytail. What she didn't hold down of her auburn hair poofed out in a bushy mane. She gave a perfunctory smile and revealed front teeth too large for her mouth. Whoever named her Rose had misplaced their expectations. Al deftly took position at the rear of the seat next to his friend (or was she something else?) and stood ready to help the next boarder. Sam stood unsure on the mud-covered shore. Scorpius broke her cautious thought, "It's all right, I will steady you on this side, and Mister Potter will help you from his." Al nodded and Sam set one foot in with their help.

The boy with Rose turned back, obvious uncertainty on his face, " _Mister_ Potter?" He noted the potential new passengers, "Hey, we got enough already. No scale-skins allowed!" He slid along the bench seat and collided with Sam as she brought up her second foot. She nearly fell despite the two boys' assistance. He pushed Scorpius' arm aside and Sam flailed.

"What the- HEY!" Sam used her mother's sharp-as-steel growl again (like she had at Andre on the train). The boat tilted up at the added weight to the aft, but far more than it should have. Scorpius withdrew from the boy's outburst and minor assault. Albus tried to withdraw his hand at the sudden change in Sam's grip, and her eyes, and her, all of her.

Sam's suit merged with her skin as she turned into glossy, black glass lined in flickering, red tendrils. She had become a smoldering obsidian, **moving** statue. She stepped back ashore taking Al with her. He fell from her grasp, his hands stretched out to stop his full-on face-plant. The ground about Sam's feet hissed and steamed. Her hands free, everyone around astonished into inaction, she dropped to one knee. Glassy, black eyelids narrowed on molten eyes. She grabbed low on the hull and shoved it like a child would a toy. The boat shot forward with its prow high, its hull splashing across the water's surface before it dipped and splashed down more than ten yards from shore.

Rose held low in her seat and received only a light spray. Her ship's self-appointed defender was not as lucky. Nearly thrown off the back at launch, he overcompensated as the boat plunged. The sudden stop threw him to the edge. He went face first, waist-deep into the lake, clinging to the edge of the ship. He recoiled from the water and collapsed into the boat's center. Sam stood and yelled, "WATCH OUT FOR THE DORK-EATING SQUID!" Her voice grated, it was much deeper than before and smoke came with her breath. Those who turned back from the spectacle of the first boat's departure saw Sam as she rippled and became a granite form of herself, then again as she became a normal (looking) girl in her uniform.

Professor Hagrid approached in a few long strides, "Wot's tha trouble now?"

Al pushed himself to his feet, and skidded out ahead of Sam. "Nuthin', Hagrid. We were just tryin' to find a boat all three of us could take. Oh, there's one!" His pointing past the huge instructor distracted the man and gave Albus the chance to turn back and make an exaggerated grimace.

Maybe this Hagrid guy had a temper to match his girth. When he looked back, Sam smiled uncertainly. She clamped her mouth shut when she caught the smoke curling from her lips.

Hagrid squinted and grunted, "Hmmph, no more magic 'till a profess-, until one of us says so." Hagrid pointed his polished twig at the vessel Albus had pointed at, "Don't keep everyone waitin'." It was the same one Sam (and Scorpius) had eyed to start with. They ended up walking behind Mr. Hagrid to a low chorus of snickers and whispers.

Al darted ahead. He took a moment to wipe his muddied hands on his robes. He was about to try to clean off his robes with his hands, but Sam stopped him by taking his hand in her own. "Now," she smiled coyly, "where were we?" Al and Sam chuckled as he helped her in. She sat to the front on the far side. Albus gave Scorpius a hand, too. He sat across from Sam. Al jumped in, spun, and fell back without looking, landing next to her. They were, of course, the last students to board their vessel.

Hagrid waved and tapped his stick at the prow of his own ship twice and the remaining boats took off smoothly from the shore. Sam and Al were all smiles, while Scorpius wavered between polite amusement and nervous frets as the three of them traded glances.

Al peered ahead to where Rose was tending to her companion. Sean ( _That's it!_ ) was intent on wringing out his soaked clothing, avoiding any eye contact, while Rose looked to Al with disappointment.

Al broke his own new found tension, "That's Sean, his father's Seamus Finnegan, a guard at Azkaban. Dad's all right with him, but Ron says something happened in school, I don't know, but he doesn't like 'im." The comment unsettled Scorpius, which in turn worried Al. There was more between the two of them than they let on. "Was that thing you did the elemental stuff you were talking about?"

With a lingering glance at the lead boat, Sam responded, "Yeah, a fire and earth form I like ... He was pretty mad about us getting on board ..." and she turned to appraise Scorpius, who was fixated on his shoes, "but he was happy enough with what he did," then turning to Al, "I bet because of who would see." The Sean kid's emotions were simple.

Scorpius turned to face her, "Legilimency?"

"What?" Sam was distracted by Scorpius' emotions going blank again. Still, she hoped it was clear she didn't understand the word, not that she hadn't heard it. She hated it when someone just repeated a word as if that would make its meaning clear. _Oops_ , Sam realized she had transmitted her confusion, and forcibly at that.

Albus adopted the received feeling, "What's that mean?"

The pasty boy clarified, "Reading thoughts."

"Oh, telepathy ... kinda," _but I need practice_ , she thought. "Too many minds - like on the train, so many people." That comment made Al very nervous, he strained to not show it outwardly. The small fleet had caught up with Rose and Sean before their ship started moving with the others.

Al's wonder won out over his embarrassment, "You learn legomency and how to change into some volcano thing already? All I can do is a light spell and wand-on's."

The approval of the outburst made her feel guilty. She had not wanted to draw attention to herself. Sam's temper had gotten the better of her. She looked about at the other ships as they approached a dark cliff curtained in leafy vines. Sam answered absently, "Huhn? 'Wand-on's'? Thought control is the FIRST thing-" _Wands, right, that's what the big guy has been using, dummie._ But she was cut off before she could respond in full.

"Mind your heads!" Professor Hagrid yelled. They passed through the ivy into a low cave. There were a few whispers, squeals, and giggles. Several tiny lights broke the darkness. They soon saw a stone-paved harbor. Dark foreboding was left behind and replaced with grand magnificence. Hogwarts castle rose before them, all tall spires, classic parapets and an infinite number of brightly lit windows. It was grand and ornate and everything Sam could have hoped for.

She forgot herself and smiled eagerly at the majesty of it all. Everyone's excitement and awe added to her own. She giggled, then, embarrassed, she tried to rein it in. When her gaze met with Hagrid's beady, black eyes, and she felt his unabashed delight, Sam lost what little control she had and burst forth laughing loudly. A small part of her was afraid she would make another spectacle, but most of the others were also caught up in admiration of their new, fantastical home. "It really IS a fairy tale castle," she sighed happily as she wiped away a tear.

Chapter 5 Unscheduled Delays

Scorpius

The skimmers landed neatly into the stone paved slots along the harbor. Scorpius nearly appreciated the order of it all, but it was quickly ruined by everyone disembarking haphazardly. Albus had no trouble leaping over the bow, landing sure-footed on the slick rock. Scorpius prepared himself to help Samantha ashore, she clearly expected the two boys to aid her, despite them having no more experience at any of this. She gave her assessment as it were, "This is so much cooler than concrete barracks and sheet metal classrooms ..." Samantha was delighted with the castle, her view fixed above the crowd. It was the most normal reaction from her so far.

Meanwhile, the soaked boy looked at them with open contempt. It was not Malfoy's fault, but he accepted the blame, the scorn. He should not have heeded Potter's call. Scorpius was unaccustomed to this new environment. "We go up the stairs to those big double doors, or what?" the American asked. The boat beside Professor Hagrid had been open. Had he ridden over in that ship, alone, not interacting with anyone, there wouldn't have been a confrontation.

Small groups formed on the steps: Rose Weasley, Sean Finnegan and a few others; they expected to be in Gryffindor. Leilianna had seen Scorpius, but kept her distance as promised. She had another girl with her, the Durmstrang teen by them and two other boys, set to join Slytherin. Scorpius tried to imagine his father doing the same with his classmates: Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini. He had not observed any other defined groups. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs did not take part in such self-segregation, Scorpius concluded. Professor Hagrid told them to wait there and departed to tend to the now empty carriages.

Samantha and Albus held close to Scorpius. Al offered, "Everyone else is inside, sitting at these looong tables, one for each house. I bet the others are already here, I don't know how long they take. They probably want us to wait for one of the professors." Albus should have joined his cousin by now. Running into him would have been an acceptable change of plan, if not for the audience. Scorpius had only just met Albus, but the Potters represented so much to the young Malfoy (he'd almost forgotten about the woman outside the station).

Instead they were disrupted by that sweaty-faced teen, and this ... this odd girl? She was unhinged, unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. Being with these two had been different, and, he had to admit, exciting in ways. He had meant to ride the train alone. The textbook would have kept any average student at a distance or at least from speaking to him. Lelianna had somehow managed to keep any potential Slytherins away. Family reputation would have done for any older students. Rose Weasley watched them.

The doors to the castle opened and an adult backed out. He turned and spoke, "Welcome, my eager young wizards and witches," It was Professor Stalvan. His robe was accented with Slytherin green, as befit a househead. His cheeks were sunken, and his beard and hair were uniformly dark and very short. He looked about suspiciously; his eyes calculating the crowded children. He handed an amulet to the Latin American boy.

The plan hadn't accounted for these deviations. The train ride was a loss, as was the lake crossing. The girl's change to black glass had been amazing, but the boy had not intended to unbalance her. He had aimed to stop Scorpius. _"Scale-skin", a Slytherin_ , he thought with shame.

This had to go right. This was the sorting. This would determine his life for seven years, perhaps forever. Father and he had discussed it. They had agreed. Albus and Samantha were not part of that plan. However, it was not worth trying to move away, they would just follow him. He counted on tradition to save him.

"Exchange students line up eldest to youngest." Stalvan's diction was intense and exact. The professor's presence as first year greeter at least _implied_ his position as the Deputy Headmaster. There were very few foreign students, and their ages were rather apparent. No shock that the American was the youngest. A dark girl stood ahead of her, arms across her chest, as she lectured an obviously annoyed Samantha. On the other end was the Durmstrang and Chinese students quite animated in their conversation, with their French onlooker annoyed at his exclusion. The woman with the Chinese girl solved the issue when she stepped between the older teens and ended the discussion. "First years order by last name, alphabetically, three rows: A to L, M to S, T to Z." That would put Scorpius far enough from Leilianna (Lafayette), but just a short distance from Albus Potter. Hopefully it would be sufficient room to prevent distraction by either. He could stick to the plan Father had helped him formulate.

The students continued to work out the alphabetical ordering as they filed through the doors and into a holding room. Scorpius was busy mentally reciting his schedule of events. The first year briefing was next. Stalvan threatened the entire gathering of students, "The sorting shall commence on word from the headmaster. Keep your order: exchange students first, residents by last name."

The room was open and they barely held to their ordered lines. They should have had tension strap stanchions, like at King's Cross. "For our resident students: you will remember this event for the rest of your lives. Your sorting will determine with whom you attend instruction, eat your meals, make your rooms. Wizards and witches you have not even met will judge you based on this assignment, made in these next moments. However," The quiet hung ominously, Scorpius was sure even the older students didn't dare draw breath. "Make no error, your fate is of your own making." With that, the doors opened and their entrance began.

The Great Hall was just as impressive as he had interpreted from his mother's and father's descriptions. It was grander than he had said, more realistic than she had portrayed. Georgia Stansfield, Slytherin headgirl, stood as did the other headstudents and staff. She caught his eye with a fraction of a smirk at their arrival. Her father would have explained everything and she accepted it, even if they weren't fully aware of the history behind it. Victoire Weasley, Terrance Wamble, and Dietrich O'Donnell, the headstudents of Gryfinndor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were each at the heads of their house tables. Even if he had wanted to, there had been no chance (and no point) in discussing the matter with any of them. The Weasleys may be the largest and most important family from his parents' time at Hogwarts, but certainly the Malfoys and Weasleys were not on social terms with one another. At least four of the five ghosts he expected floated about the tables. Perhaps Peeves had been restrained. Then again, he was not precisely a ghost.

Headmaster Orinsworth addressed them, "I'm sure you'll have noticed some differen' uniforms among us. Hogwarts, in participation with wizarding schools across the globe, is hosting several exchange students this year, as they take in a few of ours." His voice was coarse, and his accent made him sound like a dockworker. Scorpius had been warned that was not the case. The headmaster stepped out in front of the professors' table. Malfoy noted each of the househeads: Longbottom, Gabble, Tomlinson. Stalvan took his place at the head table, he twitched a brow, perhaps at seeing Scorpius, then turned his attention to the exchange students and the placement of the sorting hat upon its stool. It was the last obstacle, the most essential, unknowable variable. Orinsworth continued his speech as he made his way in front of the staff table, "While we norm'ly sort out our own fresh faces first, today we're gonna be allowin' our guests that honor, aren't we?" Set down on the stool, the hat began to speak in a rough sing-song.

Welcome all, to Hogwarts school:  
A place to learn and grow.  
No matter where you come from  
We've got some things for you to know.

Change and charm, defend, foresee  
Our staff will show you each.  
And brewing, tending, taming  
These lessons they will teach.

From 'round the globe new faces come  
To see things as we do see  
From ancient lands and nearby shores  
With diff'rent ways from you and me.

But no more wait, let's not delay.  
Your first lesson: our hist'ry!  
Four founders we had in olden day  
Who thought to pass on their wizardry.

Gryffindor was courageous, bold  
His goal to train the same.  
His sword a deadly legacy to  
Those true to his brave name.

Ravenclaw was clever, swift  
And she valued open minds.  
A crown of thoughts she left to earn  
for those could see the signs.

Hufflepuff was generous.  
She'd never see us part.  
She gave a cup, and all her life  
That all may share her heart.

But Slytherin's goals were mixed:  
ambition, power, 'n' purity;  
He left his ring, but also beasts,  
and secret ways revealed in tragedy.

Fresh gifts to forge, by younger hands  
on a new path, yet unfound  
return'd from distant lands  
welcomed back on friendly ground.

But do not worry, have some faith  
for to overcome these fears  
will take patience, time and care  
this new class has them seven years.

So take your turn, gently please  
On your head I'll sit with ease  
And announce to all your house of fate  
One, two, three, and no more wait.

The headmaster looked at the list and called out names in his gravel voice, "Alexei Koverchenko, of Durmstrang," The young man retrieved the hat from the stool and wore it without sitting. The hat declared: Slytherin. Orinsworth prompted the next student, "Huang Xiau, from the House of Holistic Studies." It sounded like Wang Shiow. The Chinese student was followed by an older woman (the American's chaperone was nowhere in sight). There seemed to be some confusion between the two of them, as the woman tried to direct the girl forward. They stutter-marched to the stool. The woman half-mimed motions that the girl acted out in full. The student clasped her hands and bowed before she received the hat from Koverchenko. She sat and placed the hat upon her head: Ravenclaw. The girl stood and graciously handed the leather headpiece to the next in line (her escort continued to direct/suggest needlessly from the background). "Andre Sebastien, of Beauxbatons," - Hufflepuff. The same last name as the French Secretary of Magic, if he was related to such a politician that might explain his talkative nature. "Hijaj ibn Yousef Hazimeh of the Mahjee Clan," a short pause, then a seeming surprise to the boy: Gryffindor. He looked pleased (and why shouldn't he be?)

The acceptance of these assignments by the respective houses was indicative of their household attitudes. Slytherin with knowing nods and smug smirks, Ravenclaw with an exchange of matched bows, Hufflepuff with hugs and laughter, Gryffindor with enthusiastic handshakes and eager cheers. "Pablo Ixchel of, er, apprentice to Shaman Tlacototl," - Hufflepuff, unconditional acceptance from faces as happy as his own, even happier now. "Fontaine Dubois of the Haiti Coven" - Ravenclaw. She was wary of the hat, ready to remove it before its pronouncement. She was received with restrained shoulder hugs and cheek kisses. Ravenclaw either knew the cultural greeting for all the exchanges, or had just rehearsed those of the most likely candidates for their house. "Samantha Witherspoon of the Groom Lake Academy."

"Delay."

 _What?_ Scorpius saw confused looks on Orinsworth, then the other professors, accompanied from the tables by strained applause which evaporated quickly. The mantra Malfoy had been repeating in his head lapsed. Samantha did not appear shocked, but angry. Her lips were pursed, her chin raised. She glared beyond the assembled students. She moved to avoid a second attempt by Orinsworth, but he swiftly replaced the hat on her head: "delay." A younger professor came out from his seat and examined the hat while Samantha shifted on the stool. A shrug and a blank stare from the professor to the headmaster. Scorpius surmised that there was nothing readily wrong. Very practical, the headmaster directed the young American to sit in one of the chairs lining the Great Hall. Orinsworth turned to the three columns of new students between the house tables and beckoned the first to approach.

Scorpius worried that the girl's practice in occlumency, guarding her thoughts, had caused the trouble. He had also been trained to protect his mind from intrusion. He hoped instead that it was her espoused difficulty in concentrating with so many people about. The first ten students were assigned with no issues. _Delay?_ He knew the hat had a different rhyme each year, but thought it was limited to four responses in assigning houses. _Hadn't it said something about "no delay" or "no wait"?_ Twenty students, nothing remarkable. _"Delay" for what, further consideration? On the hat's part? Until when, the end of the sorting?_ Thirty students, Leilianna Lafayette to Slytherin as expected. _What_ _ **had**_ _it meant about Slytherin?_ "Scorpius Malfoy," A deliberate tone from Orinsworth. Perhaps he knew something about "the plan", would Father have told him? _What did he tell that woman? Had he given her something? The sword was the only "gift" left. The others had all been destroyed to defeat Voldemort, hadn't they?_ The headmaster placed the hat on Scorpius as he took his seat on the stool.

The sorting hat dropped over his eyes. Malfoy's breathing slowed, his limbs weren't as quick to respond, time seemed to suspend in the dark. It assessed him, but Scorpius could not agree. _You mean me? No_ , he thought, _that can't be right._ No, there were debts to be paid. He was not to be rewarded. What the hat told him was clearly wrong. No one said anything about choices, about negotiations - NOR that the hat would respond to his every thought. He instinctively guarded his mind.

"Delay."

 _No, no, NO!_ He could not be diverted like this. He looked to the table on his right: disapproval by Slytherin, he was not with them, not with anyone for that matter. Those who had been informed in advance showed no confusion. They may have suspected this was what Malfoy had been up to. He was sent to the side with Miss Witherspoon. So close to Slytherin, but not with them. This had not been the plan. He knew the hat spoke, but no one had said it was alive.

More names were called. Merriweather to Hufflepuff; Minosaul, Slytherin; Nettlegloves, Gryffindor; Nightshade, Slytherin. There were others, but Scorpius was too distracted to notice. Until it came to someone that mattered.

"Albus Potter."

"Delay."

While there had been murmuring from Slytherin with Malfoy being set aside, there was a literal outcry from Gryffindor at this announcement. Professor Longbottom insisted James Potter and several others be seated and quiet themselves. Victoire Weasley was quick to follow Longbottom's lead and hushed the table. Rose Weasley, still in line, was stunned, her mouth agape. Would there be further announcements of "delay" as the Sorting Hat continued? No.

The headmaster was perturbed, but fought to cover it, "Well, that's the sorting, in'it? Let's eat then." After the food appeared on the tables, the professors passed the hat about and examined it both physically and mystically. Scorpius was seated with Samantha and Albus in the side chairs. The school healer brought three levitating plates to them. Al held his in his lap, while the other two used the chairs beside them.

The lady that had been with Samantha entered the hall and immediately noticed her charge was one of three seated to the side. She took the girl to a doorway and addressed her with hushed but harsh tones. Witherspoon was angry yet she appeared about to cry as she cast her eyes away from the lecture. She was far removed from her happy state in the castle's harbor. Had she caused this? Or was it that they had both guarded their thoughts? Why had everyone else been ready? This had not happened to Father, to Mother, but both came from long line Slytherin families. He came from BOTH those families: Malfoy **and** Greengrass (and what about the plan?)

What about Potter? He didn't seem to know anything about occlumency, and surely there was no confusion about his ancestry. If ... this had all just gone to plan. If it had even come close. He wanted to blame the American girl, but he saw her eyes were red and rimmed in tears; it was difficult to indict her. She sat back down beside them, took her plate in her lap and ate, grief stricken.

Albus' expression was unconcerned as he chewed. "The roast's really good."


	2. Chapter 6-10

Chapter 6: Assorted Issues

Headmaster Gordon Orinsworth

The Sorting Hat sat still and silent. The headmaster took it as yet another trial, another task in his overfull docket. "I don't know what to say, Gordon." This came from Dean Thomas, the recently rehired Charms professor.

Their balding leader sat at the large, ornate desk, took his gaze off the hat and shifted his eyes to Professor Thomas. "Dean, look at Jorval, look at me, expect this to happen to your hair when you take charge of something here." He strained to be polite.

"I keep my hair short. There's a difference, Gordon." Professor Stalvan was sarcastic, yet almost friendly in this personal setting, not the demanding professor the students knew.

Dean picked up the sorting hat, "I mean, the hat has always been cursed, but also has a powerful countercurse, both quite old, and it's clear the original charm DOES work." At this he dropped it on the headmaster's head.

"Ravenclaw!"

Professor Tomlinson interjected. "Well, Mister Thomas, I don't think assigning a former househead is an appropriate test of function." Her Scottish accent was mellow, her words precise and cool. "You would be better served in a proof by using the hat on an undeclared person. The only professor of such standing being Firenze. I am curious if he would accurately predict the outcome."

Garfuhn, the goblin professor (he'd picked Hufflepuff himself), let loose a single guffaw. Orinsworth nodded in acknowledgment as he tossed the hat on the desk before him, "Oh, that'll help, Mandy, let's annoy him more by having him climb the stairs up here again, too, why don't we?" The headmaster stroked his hand along his head. Jorval Stalvan had started teaching at Hogwarts only a year after himself, Amanda Tomlinson the year after that. She had been an easy selection as his househead replacement when he was promoted. This situation, though ... the headmaster's temper was barely perceptible as he started, but rose as he continued, "I need a solution, tonight, in less than an hour, as to the disposition of one exchange student, and two boys ... who- whose house selection should NOT be an issue!" His rage subsided, "We offered them their fam'ly legacies, di'n't we?"

Stalvan spoke up suddenly, his voice changed to his sharp and fast instructional cadence, "Gordon, we have discussed that issue, in part. Dean has confirmed that the charm is still in effect, if the issue is with the students, I think it inappropriate to assign them on the basis of nothing more than history."

The headmaster studied his friend for a moment. "I really need a Defense replacement. Seven years of double duty is wearing me out. McGonagall really did a better job with these student issues, maybe not the class plans-"

The headmaster was cutoff, "Yes, the class plan," Professor Longbottom was almost smug as he looked at the chalkboard hung behind the headmaster. "And, the order is impartial. Just let them attend the first week with each house in alphabetical order."

Tomlinson's voice warmed with approval, "Yes, Neville has it, elegant and egalitarian. Every class is covered, and in an even better order than our _current_ first year schedule." She stood and highlighted each proposed day in house appropriate lights with her wand.

"A better order?" Professor Gabble said suspiciously.

Stalvan continued coldly, "I agree, every other day instruction for first years would be preferable over clumsily trying to prioritize gradual introduction leading to supposedly more difficult courses. It's not as if Tranfiguration is actually harder than Charms. You think you could fit that in as your annual adjustment next year, Gordon? Then again, if you had left our start of year as the first we'd have an entire weekend to _sort_ this out." The verbal jab received several repressed snickers.

Orinsworth turned and assessed the classes outlined on the board above him. "Right then, good enough, would have preferred such a logical idea from YOU, Mandy, but -"

Gabble, more perturbed than the target of the barb, responded, "Are your allegiances still to Ravenclaw, or the entirety of Hogwarts, Headmaster?"

Without looking, he shot back, "Oh, do get over yourself, Regina. Hufflepuff encouraged unity, you prefer anarchy, don't ya?" The young Hufflepuff househead steamed at the chiding. Orinsworth turned, "Make it happen, Jorval, tell Creevey to put 'em in the guest rooms. The American girl can room up with her chaperone. Best to keep the boys separate if they're anything like their fathers. And remind me to do that start of year speech thing tomorrow night. That's all, people. Get to your houses my 'heads'. Let's keep discussion of this delay issue to a minimum, can we do that?"

The professors stood to leave. The Gryffindor househead paused, "It's very likely this is already THE topic of conversation among mine, Gordon."

"Hence 'minimum', Neville." And though Stalvan had made no move to leave the headmaster beckoned him to stay, "And Jorry, stick around, Hagrid, you give Dennis the word, all right?" Rubeus Hagrid nodded eagerly and exitted in turn with the rest of the faculty as Neville held the door.

"Of course, my liege," the deputy headmaster said mockingly.

Before the door could close behind Professor Longbottom, it swung wide again. The school healer had a young boy tugging to get away from her, " **Some** one wouldn't accept that Daddy was too busy to put him to bed." At this she released the eager three-year old who scrambled for the beleaguered headmaster. "Oh, I'm sorry Jorval, I thought everyone had left."

"I imagine whatever Gordon has to say can wait, Katherine." The Slytherin househead was detached in his acceptance.

The headmaster tried to handle the bundle of energy in his arms intent on play fighting, "Uh, no, c'mon Peter, Mum will read you a little and I'll be right there."

"Did you see Finnegan? He got soaked crossing the lake and put off doing anything about it until after dinner. Hagrid wouldn't say what happened, either." She was apologetic, but Gordon was accustomed to his wife allowing no obstacle in her care of the students.

"You should find that Defence replacement, Gordon," Stalvan arched his eyebrow at the absurdity of his very physically able friend struggling with a small boy.

"Right, g'night, Katie," He stepped quickly to catch her as she closed the door, "Hey!"

She turned, smiled, and kissed him, "Get him to sleep and make sure our bed's warm." Katie patted the brown-haired boy and he blocked his own face from being kissed. "Ah, what kind of thanks is that?" She sneaked in a peck on her son's cheek and departed down the stair.

Gordon turned his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, "I don't know what's worse: you refuse the affection of a beautiful woman or that you couldn't block a _healer?_ Are you sure you're my son?" The boy crossed his arms over his chest and nodded defiantly. The headmaster suddenly switched to an officious tone expected of his station, "All right, Jorry, each of the househeads make their pitch if they want, but by Friday morning, either the hat sorts them, they decide on their own, or I do. Make certain Drake knows what's going on, if you have this arrangement worked out with him."

"I'll send an owl to his office. If he's out of country Astoria will telephone him right away." And with that, the Transfiguration professor followed the healer down the stairs.

The role of headmaster gave way to father, "And where is your sister, Mister Orinsworth?"

"She wen' to the Slyberin lair to find their riddle," the boy answered proudly. "She said the Rushing boy was int-tres-ting."

"And she's the other reason Daddy lost his hair, Peter-my-boy." To which the boy playfully slapped his father's head "It's SLYTH-er-in, they don't have a riddle ... and he's Ukrainian, not Russian."

Scorpius

Malfoy nearly jumped when the man entered the hall. He recognized the inspector in charge from King's Cross. Potter was by the raised stage of the professors' table, chatting with a ghost in an old courtier's costume and wide neck ruff (the famous Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington). All the other students had been ushered out after dinner. The American girl sat rigidly in the end seat closest to the door, while her companion stood on the far side of the doorway. The man spoke carefully, "Boys, ladies. I'm the groundskeeper, Mister Creevey. You'll be staying in the guest rooms for the week, and be attending classes with each house in turn."

As cowed as Samantha might have been earlier, she spoke up first, "Which ... 'house' first, sir?" She swallowed hard at the effort.

He barely smiled, "Gryffindor, miss." He held the door open for them to leave, but the woman stood before the girl, glaring and arms crossed.

Samantha's response was rapid, "Thank-you-sir-sorry-for-speaking-out-of-turn-sir." She cast her eyes down, turned in her seat, stood and almost ran for the door. Her escort stalked after her. Scorpius exchanged looks with Albus, as they both made for the exit slowly. The door was massive, yet Mr Creevey closed it (and had opened it previously) with no strain at all.

Samantha stood rigidly in front of the third and last wooden door along a hallway decorated with modern pictures of Hogwarts teachers and students in class, playing Quidditch, and dueling. Al scanned about, perhaps to find someone he knew. There was a handsome teen, third or fourth year, who dueled someone out of the camera's focus, his hair blonde on one side of the part, crimson red on the other. Another photo had a pretty girl with a pointed nose, her eyebrows raised and her smile spread as the sorting hat was lowered on her head.

The woman was upset, but strained to be civil, "No, Mister Creevey, the agreement specifically bars anyone from ... from my having to share accommodations with anyone. Your distractions and deviations have **already** allowed one outburst." She seemed to pause for a reaction from their guide. Nothing forthcoming, she stated, "Samantha will have to be in another room."

Creevey adjusted his thick glasses and rubbed his chin, "Take this one, miss. Boys, you two are in there." He indicated the first room.

"Sir, will the elves know where, I mean ...?" Scorpius wondered.

"They will adjust Mister Malfoy. There are toiletries in each room. It should only take a minute for your things to arrive. You two will be on your best behavior." His voice was softer than he had been at the train station. With that, Samantha was shoved into the second room by her escort, while Scorpius and Albus entered the first.

Albus leapt and sat briefly on one of the beds. The room was like an unmagical hotel room dropped into a stone castle. Two magical portraits adorned the walls, both a collage of the grounds, most of the scenes still at this point. The astronomy deck had several students and a cloaked adult. The one labelled "Hogwarts Zoo" had a few lights on while a large, shadowed figure moved among the outdoor pens. "There's Hagrid. He didn't even say hello when we came in."

"He _was_ a bit distracted," Scorpius offered. He flinched at the grey-skinned, skeletal horse-like creatures in the stables and the implication of what he saw, what most his age would not be able to see.

"Oh yeah, Sam. That was awesome how she threw the boat. Oh, I don't think that Rose'll blame you for what happened. Don't think she even really knows Finnegan, he doesn't live in Godric's Hollow. She was just upset I didn't catch up on the Express. Hope he learned his lesson, though." After Albus checked the bathroom supplies he flipped through the pamphlets on the bedside table. "Look, a muggle house phone. Wonder if it gets bars?"

"For non-wizard parents when they visit. Father said these rooms are new." Scorpius strained and checked around his bed every few seconds.

Albus spoke in a rushed fashion, unable to concentrate on any one subject, "What do muggles make of all this, I mean, it's really brilliant even if you _have_ been around magic. The castle's really different with people in it. I've never seen someone transform like that before, have you?"

"Transform like that?" It took Scorpius a moment to shift his thoughts from the sorting hat, and back to what happened at the dock. "No." Scorpius relaxed with the appearance of the large, thick-plastic travel chest at the foot of his bed, he quickly extracted his phone and pressed at the lit panel.

"Will a mobile work here? Why not use a message stone or a send mirror?"

Scorpius replied without a break in his typing, "A sending mirror? We couldn't, I mean, the cost ... and I don't know who Father is with, maybe a non-wizard, he was going ... somewhere on business. Message stones can only send predete-, pres- messages already written into the stone." He sent his message, and hoped the poor signal wouldn't be an issue for a text. He set the phone down on the table beside his bed.

"I don't know if I want my Mum to know what happened. Phones don't work at home, or at Gran's. Tolbert's up in the owlery, but I'm sure someone will say, James, or Rose, Vicky, Neville. Does your dad travel much? _The Prophet_ sends Mum all over."

Malfoy's phone trumpeted softly and Scorpius clutched at it quickly, read the display and smiled tightly. "He said Gryffindor tomorrow? It's a good thing they know how to handle this. Why doesn't a phone work at your home?"

"Too much charms or stuff, oh, message books would work, but mirrors are better, no writing. It sounds fun, going with each house." Both boys laughed anxiously.

Then, the conversation paused, they heard the crying echoing down the hall. It had to be Samantha. "Maybe she could call her parents? But it might be later in America." They hurried through brushing their teeth and donned their pajamas in opposite turn, a method Al, with siblings, seemed accustomed to. Scorpius picked up on the rotation quickly, though, and both were soon in bed and set to sleep. The lights were off, and the hall had gone silent.

Albus

Al glanced over several times, until he was sure Scorpius was asleep. He took the

mobile in hand. It was an older one, it flipped open like his Aunt Hermione's. He found the most recent messages:

SM: sort delay! what do I do?

DM: w/e u decide is best

There must have been other Malfoys. These ones didn't act anything like the ones Al had heard about.

Chapter 7: To Go Boldly

Sam

She woke in a gray-stone room. It reminded her of the military quarters on base, with the barely used furniture and dull walls. No hope it had just been a dream gone bad. Sam's eyes stung from last night's crying. When would she ever grow up? No, that wasn't it. Things had gotten worse last month _because_ she'd grown up. That's not quite how her mother had put it, but that's how it felt. It was more than that though. She was not going to be classified by some possessed, leather hat.

There should have been an interview, or a test, even an arbitrary separation by order of arrival, age, gender, name, or **something** , not a telepathic article of clothing. She'd thought she could control it, but it came up with its own decision: "delay". No one had covered the hat during her briefings, not that she could remember. It was cold comfort that the hat hadn't told the professors what it had said to her, and none of them were inclined to wear it, to be subject to its mind-reading; Interrogators seldom suffered their own methods.

Throughout her internal ranting, Sam prepared for the coming day. She looked in the mirror and imagined her mother looked back from behind her. Sam closed her eyes and brushed her hair as her mother would. She stroked back along her head lightly, her eyes barely opened. She jumped at what she saw.

Without a sound, Miss Skein was there. She addressed her charge cruelly, "Stop that!" She smacked Sam's hand. "What if someone else had come in here?" She snatched up the black satin strip with the silver locket from the bedside table, "Lock your door, and sleep with this on." She secured the baubled choker around Samantha's neck.

The daydream reflection was beyond shattered. "At GLA we aren't allowed to lock our ... yes, ma'am." She composed herself, drawing her hair up from the base of her neck. She hated putting the little bows inn her hair, but she didn't have many options. Her uniforms sat on the unused bed. She couldn't clearly remember setting her clothes out. Then the last thought she had before she slept came back to her, "Can ... may I ... call my mother, Miss Sara?"

The question registered no outward impact on her handler, " **Skein** , Miss Skein, people in Great Britain use last names!" She adjusted Samantha's pig tails. "I don't know, Witherspoon. Maybe if you don't attack any more students ... something could be arranged on the weekend." The dowdy woman took a step back to assess the results. "I know this isn't how anyone wanted it. You think _I_ want to be here, like this? You know how the government feels about your mother, about her kind?" She reached to the bed and handed over a clip-on tie. Sam tucked the already hidden ribbon further under her shirt-collar. She didn't want anyone to see it. Sam looked at the floor and nodded. Skein continued, " _If_ you behave yourself, _if_ you're lucky ... you might be able to distance yourself from that discrimination here."

"That's what ... what Mother said." Sam didn't look like she hadn't slept at all. Still, she felt like it and worse: the noisy train, that boy's insult, her cycle, that cursed hat.

Skein sighed, "Look, I don't know if it'll be approved, but I'll ask if you can call your mother ... tonight, OK?"

For possibly the first time, Sam smiled at this woman and nodded with renewed life, "That'd be great." She hoped being nicer about it would get a better reaction in return.

Skein was not moved by the effort, "One phone call for a locked door, charm worn at all times, and no more outbursts. Agreed?" Sam nodded weakly and Miss Skein opened the door, "Let's go, Witherspoon." The chaperone was no comfort, but Sam thought about her mother's sweet voice. She kept her joy to herself as she grabbed her backpack.

The boys were not ready yet. Sam gave a quick glance at the photo board of school activities. She was about to turn away when she noticed something. "They move! The pictures ... but these aren't current like the ones in the room!"

Unimpressed, Skein stated, "Yes. The British, _most_ Europeans, waste a lot of energy on niceties. You'll find much of their magic is not as utilitarian as at the Academy."

The sorting hat stood out in the central shot. The girl was an obvious choice for the camera: cute, with bright red hair and a barely freckled face. Sam wondered if this was that same "Vic-twar" from yesterday. She appeared to have always been attractive. Enviously, Sam thought she was one of those women who ate whatever she wanted, never got pimples, and dealt with each monthly "change" gracefully. Then there was a shot that proved the brute Hagrid did have a dragon to wrestle, it was unleashed, and he was giving it a noogie. Her examination of the picture was interrupted when the boys emerged into the hall.

"Yeah, Sean will be with them, too, and Rose. And our, err, cousin Vicky is the headstudent, but she's really nice. And Neville is cool even if he just teaches about plants," Albus explained to Scorpius. Potter appeared unfazed by yesterday's events, but his mood was uncomfortable. He was still curious enough to talk to Sam, "Oh hey, err, Sam, right? You're up already, you sleep all right?" Maybe they had heard her crying. She hadn't thought to cover up with the pillow fast enough.

"I'm fine, yeah," She looked at Skein who did not react. "So, where do we ..." She stopped with the arrival of a wizard in a pointed hat and rugged, leather robes.

"Professor Neville!" Al knew this guy, and was obviously happy to see him.

The man was not harsh, but his tone was authoritative nonetheless. "Err, Professor Longbottom, Mister Potter," Despite his demeanor and good looks, something about him just felt ... cold. "At least here at school. Now, if the three of you, oh, and you Agent, or ..."

"Miss Skein. 'Agent' might make some uncomfortable."

 _And would be a lie_ , thought Sam. Agent meant FBI, CIA, NSA, MIB (Magical Investigations Bureau, though the more popular "Men In Black" was just as fitting). Sara Skein would more accurately be called a "proxy guardian" if the government acknowledged her existence at all.

"Well, our first class after breakfast today is Alchemy," he held his hands out moving his fingers as if to cast a minor rain spell. His voice was playfully spooky, "in the dungeon!" No rain spell, he had tried to be funny. The effort was met with an amused grin from Al and raised eyebrows from Sam and Sara. The professor turned to lead the way, "Well, it _seemed_ scarier when I was a student." Albus followed first. Sam was unsure if the boy was bold or just oblivious. She fell in behind him, Scorpius behind her, Miss Skein last.

As they entered the well-lit foyer, Sam's eyes drifted to the broad rounded set of steps beyond. Her eyes went wide as a shower of three-foot-wide, mostly black balls bounced down from above. One of them deflated into the shape of a heavy set girl with black curls, "I thought you said we would float down like bubbles." Sam could feel the girl's shock, but not the fear she expected.

The other balls started forming into children, as well. An older dark-skinned boy, maybe Indian, countered, "That _was_ the idea. Didn't quite go, though," He muttered thoughtfully.

The girl wasn't happy, "WHAT!?" Others examined themselves and laughed.

Then, from the feeder stairways to the wide rounded central steps two groups of younger students were led by older, badge-wearing students. One had the Victoire girl in front (Rose right behind her). As Sam had suspected, she was sure-footed even as she occasionally sidestepped down the stairs and talked to the younger Gryffindors behind her. The only consolation was that her nose was a bit long except ... it looked elegant on her.

"Do we **have** to eat with them, too, sir?" Sean did nothing to disguise his disdain. Sam nagged herself to not lash out, to let it go.

The headgirl and professor turned on him in shock and declared in unison, "Mister Finnegan!" It seemed a little unclear as to who was going to continue the dressing down, but the older man was quicker on the draw, "Fifteen points from Gryffindor until you have apologized to each of our guests. I will not tolerate such poor manners." His tone was calm, and what Sam imagined was fatherly. After giving Sean a shove or two, some of the Gryffindor first years seemed to share in his guilt as they hung their heads and shuffled their feet. American magic students would not have been so easily admonished by a loss of "points" (a _very_ British difference).

Albus edged over to Rose during the exchange. Victoire seemed to notice as her detached expression became a smile, "To breakfast then, shall we?" The gaggle of students moved to the great hall as their senior student watched over them, "If you need any advice on how to apologise, Sean, I suggest Albus as having very recent practice." Sam sensed Rose was relieved as she and Al talked, vice any disappointment or anger about his "delay".

Victoire turned back and her eyes narrowed, but it was Miss Skein that spoke, "Watch it, Witherspoon."

 _Right, no empathic scanning!_ Until she learned to control it, she risked losing herself to the emotions she sensed (a good reason she had been ordered not to do it). Sam wished she was as capable as she had implied (lied) to the boys when they were on the boat.

Scorpius waited at the door and observed the conversation. The older Weasley student offered, "Pas de problème, mademoiselle, we are here to help children practice control of their abilities." Her smile was charming and sincere. Sam would have been disgusted if she hadn't just been defended so graciously by the young woman.

"Hmph," Skein was not so easily swayed, "Move, you two." Sam wondered why Scorpius had yet to go ahead. He'd been like a blank spot to her on the train, and the dock (either trained like the professor she'd just met, or a sociopath - except he'd slipped on the boat). Maybe he just didn't want to face Sean again, those two might have known each other before the boat incident, too. Though, from what Potter had said, that wasn't likely.

Sam was not surprised to find Al at the end of the table with the remaining open seats. Rose was beside him. Though they both appeared engrossed in their conversation, Al took immediate notice of the late entry of Scorpius and Sam. While Sam expected Al to say something, it was Rose that waved them over and spoke first, "I was telling Albus that Madam Bell was in our common room to see Sean last night. She said all he needed was the good sense to not swim in the lake with all his clothes on, or to change out and take a warm shower after if he did." She giggled a bit.

Sam didn't trust it. She took the seat beside Al while Scorpius sat across from him. She was at a loss, "Swim? What? No one said - well, I -" She wasn't going to say he deserved it (though he did). No apology would come from her either way. Still, she wanted to know why no one had told on her. If they hadn't already, she wasn't going to bring it up. Sam decided to change the subject and asked Al, "Is Alchemy really in a dungeon?" She hadn't noticed anyone come by, but there was food in front of her. Scorpius had a full plate, too. Looking around, she saw no servers . She'd have to pay closer attention at lunch.

Rose responded snidely, "Oh yes, but my dad says it was only scary because of their professor. I heard Tomlinson has made it as bright as she could and my mum told me it used to be 'Potions'."

Sam didn't figure Rose would have so easily let go of being in Sean's "launch" last night. Why was she the one who answered then? At least her voice wasn't weak and whiny like yesterday. Still, her teeth were weird, she cried over Albus not riding the train with her, and therenwas that thing about the "slime-balls". Then again, who was Sam to judge someone for not behaving, or looking, perfect?

His mouth full, Al chewed and nodded to Sam. Suddenly his head swung back and he threw a punch at her nose. Sam's skin tensed and heated up as she began to shift forms. But his fist stopped short. She saw the bits of roll squeezed out the sides of his hand, melted butter dribbled down his wrist as he clenched tight.

"HEY!" It was an older boy, halfway down the table, with an orange-haired(!), black guy beside him. "Sorry, girlie, that was meant for my dodgy, dodgin' lil' brother."

Muffled by eggs and bacon Al offered, "Muh brudda, Jays." He choked down his food with a gulp of milk, "James." He started to eat the projectile off his palm. Sam looked about and noted that several others watched with apparent amusement. "You know Rose and Victoire, that's Fred by James," he leaned out to see better, "Roxy, Louis across, I don't see Molly or Dom; all Weasleys 'cept me and James." He said the names between bites from his roll, but paused, "And Lil', then Lucy and Hugh'll be here 'ventually."

Rose elbowed Al, "Dominique's at Durmstrang. I can't **believe** you don't remember when the ship came to the cottage! Everyone was so worried I was going to ruin my brand new dress in the water."

So Al's mother must have been a Weasley, and Rose was his cousin. Al shrugged. His claim that everyone in his family was in Gryffindor was an immediate condition in addition to being a historical trend. Did the same hold for Scorpius and ... that other house? (Slivering?) At the sorting it looked like the severe looking lead girl in _that house_ knew him. She was blond, but not so pale. If she was a relative, especially his sister, it would certainly explain why he was so quiet.

"Weasley!" That same teen called out from the opposite end of the hall. Several people, including Rose, turned to look. Sam noticed Victoire had already drawn her wand, a pair of intertwined, coiled sticks. The other shook her head and held her palms up flat. The elder Weasley relaxed visibly. The other girl's words sounded like a threat, "Koverchenko will keep the brats in line, but I forgot to point out dee-ay on the way up. I gotta go work with Terry on Bucky. Dee-ay NEWT's gonna be a spot, huhn?" She didn't sound completely British, maybe a little Australian? (Malfoy's cousin?) What really caught Sam was that the two were cautious of each other - maybe Britain wasn't _that_ different after all.

Victoire's response was curt, without her light friendliness, "Oui, I reviewed that last night, but I don't have da-da meeting until this evening. Class isn't until tomorrow. You'll return the favor, Mademoiselle Stansfield?"

 _What did she mean 'da-da'?_ Sam thought, and someone in her family **had** to be French ( _but not_ _her "da-da", if the last name's Weasley_ ).

"You got Stalvan first thing tomorrow. I'll take yer lot then," She back-stepped, then pivoted and strode off deliberately.

Tense exchanges aside, Hogwarts breakfast was more of a social event than Sam was used to at the Academy. Then again, Groom Lake was the place for the more troublesome or difficult casters in America. That's why it was disciplined, almost military, not like what she had heard about Buena Vista, Anaheim, or Ilvermony ( _especially_ Ilvermony). She put down her utensils and tried to sort out how things went in this cafeteria. For one, there were a lot fewer people in the morning than last night. At Gryffindor, the older students were ready for some sport, with leather pads and numbered uniforms on. Pufflefluff (?) was next over. Andre and the Guatemalan boy (Pedro? Pablo?) sat amongst predominantly younger kids. The most students were at the Ravenclaw table. It looked like a seismic graph, up and down every other seat, with an older student paired to a younger student. Dubois and Huang ( _first name is family name_ ) sat at the head of the table across from each other. The Slytherin ( _that's it!_ ), like Puff-in-stuff (!), was mostly the middle-schoolers. The Koverchenko boy and one younger girl lined up the other first years at the head of the table. Sam tried to appreciate the results of her observation exercise without any special help.

Her plate was gone, no servers in sight. Maybe it was those astral projections, or were those seriously ghosts? (Potter would know, he had been talking to one of them last night). Other students had already left, all their plates were gone, as well. As Sam stood she examined the Gryffindor table once more and found the mage, Hijaj (someone back home pronounced it differently) had sat beside Victoire, but was close to the wall like Sam, and been hidden by a Professor Hagrid-in-training sized teenager. The headstudent addressed them, "First years and ibn Yousef," she nodded to the Arab, "Come with me, I will show you to your first class."

The Slytherin first years and the Durmstrang student nearly marched as the Gryffindors mobbed forward. Confident she had everyone in sight, Victoire led the way.

In the foyer, Sam was wary of what else might fall down the stairs (other than the orb-like students from earlier). She'd feel more confident in stone form, but didn't want to make her concern so obvious. Small comfort came as Victoire took a passage near the front door and descended. _Dungeon, Sammy, dungeons are generally underground_ , she admonished herself.

The air cooled. Enchanted orbs, high along the walls, provided light but no heat. Throw in some government-issue security posters and this was just like GLA's prac-app facility. Miss Skein did not miss the similarity either, "Familiar, Witherspoon?" Sam didn't like being called by her last name. And she didn't want to give Skein any satisfaction. Instead, Sam thought to save everything for the call to her mother.

Sam noticed Alexei was not the talker Andre had been. He and the rest of his first years were silent while the Gryffindors chatted along the way. Victoire spoke to the older exchange students in turn, "I'll be back at the end of the class, ibn Yousef. I'll show you and yours to dada, Misseur Koverchenko. I am not certain what Slytherin has for its second class. Georgia should return before then." Victoire used the "son of" title with the Egyptian boy. The name "Weasley" probably wasn't French, but it _definitely_ wasn't Arabic. Besides Rose, Albus had pointed out three other Weasleys at breakfast, while Al and James were their cousins. Sam had heard jokes about British wizard inbreeding, but two of them had been very dark-skinned, four red (or orange) heads of which at least two Al or Rose said their names the French way (was there any other way to say Louie?) If anything, the Weasleys were strong evidence against intermarriage.

A narrow spiral staircase led them down to the Alchemy class. The room was like a medieval themed restaurant. There were tall circular tables throughout the room, each with four high chairs around it, and a blue flame for a centerpiece. A myriad of bottles, jars, and vials lined the shelves on the walls, with large wooden crates along the floor's edge. A long, raised counter crossed the class front, behind it, a series of matching, windowed cabinets. At the left end of was the only distinctively schoolhouse piece of furniture: an old-fashioned wooden teacher's desk with paper files and the requisite in/out bins.

Hijaj was already seated at the table by the door and watched the younger students enter behind him. He fixed Sam with a penetrating stare. She froze and was suddenly nervous. Oddly, it was Rose that offered relief, "Hey, Sam!" She thumbed behind her, "My cousin Al wants you to sit with us, Scorpius, too." She indicated a table at the far side where the two boys sat. Potter waved excitedly with a silly, over-broad smile while Malfoy kept an eye on the door behind the professor's desk, a quill and scroll ready.

Sam followed Rose, then set her pack on the floor as the others had done with their oversized tote bags. "So -," Sam stopped abruptly.

"Class!" The professor's black hair was pulled back in a bun. Her complexion was slightly dark, like Sam, and she had large, wide-set eyes, with a broad nose. "My name is Professor Amanda Tomlinson and I am your Alchemy instructor." Yet another odd accent, Irish, Scottish, whatever, Sam didn't know the difference. Looked like she was in her forties, "You may address me as Ma'am, Madam or Professor. Mister Hazimeh, this will be for familiarity of instruction procedures only, the rest of you, please prepare to take notes." Her tone was business-like, clear and crisp. "Who among my first year students can tell me why this class is called Alchemy?" Typical dumbfounded silence of timid students. "Mister. Malfoy."

Scorpius lowered his hand and stated clearly, "Alchemy is the process to, _of_ changing the base structure of a substance or substances to create a new material with its own properties."

The professor picked up as he ended, "Yes, and it is set apart from transfiguration which alters function through form, or adding energy to act on or imbue an object with distinctly **magical** properties. Such practices limited to those of wizardly talent, while the majority of the processes you will learn here could be conducted by anyone, though you will find the results are still quite extra-ordinary." Her tone was pleased as the many students scribbled furiously with archaic quills. Sam was glad to have a "normal" pen; a feather, even clipped as these were, waving around would have been annoying. "Mister Malfoy, as your allegiance is yet undeclared, you carry ten points to whatever house you are assigned; excellent answer. Open your books to chapter one, you may skip the introduction that was just summarized for you. Our first formula is a restorative draught we shall be mixing by the end of next week, but first, what must we learn?" No one else volunteered and even Scorpius didn't appear to know. "Mister Hazimeh?"

The boy slipped down to stand from the stool and made a slight bow, "My respected Professor, it is upon us to be instructed in the proper conduct of the laboratory and the properties and proper handling of the components located therein." Vocabulary spot on, but Sam recognized the foreign grammar slipping through.

"Quite," and with her confirmation, Hijaj returned to his seat, "Understand that such answers are to be expected of a fourth year student, though." He smiled appreciatively and nodded. Not exactly the level of congeniality Sam expected of a middle-eastern boy with a western woman in a position of authority, especially one clearly of mixed race. If he didn't mind the teacher, what was the deal with staring at Sam before? Professor Tomlinson assigned sets of tables to tour particular walls as she went over why the various chemicals were located where they were.

Sam took all of it for granted while Al, Rose, and Scorpius made notes as they examined the containers. The wall of cabinets behind the professor's display table were sealed with mechanical locks _and_ magical wards. Sam disapprovingly tallied off what she saw, "Manticore needles, ridgeback bile, basilisk venom, succubus tears ... werewolf saliva?!"

Professor Tomlinson finished explaining the importance of appropriate container and sealant material for the sake of safety and preservation of the various substances before answering, "Yes, Miss Witherspoon, excellent recognition of some of our most hazardous and toxic items."

Sam tried to let the last name thing go, everyone used them here. Besides, this was an adult. "Are students expected to handle these things? I mean, we're ... _kids_ , I _was_ looking forward to that twelfth birthday. Why isn't this stuff in a totally separate area?" Sam startled when Sean tapped forcibly at the cabinet glass.

The professor remained formal, "The storage is quite safe right here, Miss, and students are normally in your third year before accessing any inherently dangerous ingredients." Sam was surprised, the professor hadn't taken the comments personally. There was no recrimination in her reaction. Professor T remained confident, professional. "Now class, take your seats, we will learn how to assemble components for a recipe. Who can tell us the first step? Other than Mister Malfoy, ah, Miss Weasley."

"We have to read the recipe, I mean, the whole thing, with the ingredients, the, err, utensils and equipment and instructions and not start until we know, _understand_ all of it." Rose's fingers tied in knots behind her back, but she smiled and acted confident enough.

"Quite right, a simpler question, but a thorough answer, five points Gryffindor. Come now, someone else be ready on the next." The rest of the class went on in the same manner, much to Sam's relief. If all the Hogwarts professors were like this, the year needed to last as long as possible. It was a welcome change from the constant threats, punishments, and malicious attitudes of the Groom Lake instructors.

Then a sense of melancholy washed over Sam. Al and Rose mindfully marked their parchments held in their textbooks as the Professor guided the class along. Scorpius' roll was already filled in. Everyone was obedient and polite. Maybe the problem had just always been Sam. Her temper, so easily triggered over pride, imagined insults, and embarrassments. The change in mood, and the pain pulling at her insides made her want to just curl up and whine.

Class ended, homework was assigned, and the students filed up the spiral stairs. Some horseplay slowed the progress and made the students seem a little more human than their controlled classroom behavior. A sweaty faced Alexei ( _what was his last name?_ ) passed with the Slytherin first years in the dungeon hall. Georgia brought up the rear, a satisfied sneer on her face. More kids, around the same age as them, flooded the hall, each group led by a boy Victoire's age. Soon, the hallway was clear. Sam slumped against the wall. She clenched her eyes and clutched her sides.

The moment was broken by Skein's voice, "You going to die?" Sam was certain there was a special place in Hell for someone like Sara Skein. "Move it before I light a fire under your- "

"Fire?" Sam's anger (and pain) made the transformation easy enough. She turned into a ball of flame and shot up the stairs. Sparks grew, spread and darkened to ash that reformed into the girl they had started as.

Al was at the top of the steps across the hall.. His eyes went wide as he fought back a laugh. "Fire, too, huh?" He called above him, "Vicky, elle est là."

"Merci. Albus, let us go. All of you have Charms next. Do be careful to stop if the stairs in front of you move, and call out if you are caught by a step. Keep track of where it happens for the future." Victoire guided the group ahead of her, working to prevent anyone from being left behind. The older girl was pretty, nice, smart, aware.

Sam sighed deeply, thinking of how she had to control herself to not take on others' moods, she rarely answered teachers' questions, and how she lost track of what she was doing. Then her feet were stuck in a step that, while still resembling carpeted stairs, felt like tar. Al stopped, too, as Victoire examined her. "Miss Witherspoon, just a moment while we get a hold of you." Wasn't she short enough without a sinking step? "Or are you unwell, did you need to see the healer?"

 _Only if the healer can make me disappear._ Sam startled when she realized it was Sara who helped from behind, as Victoire did from in front, "No, uh, Madam Weasley, sorry." Sam tried the last name thing. _It would sound respectful, right?_

"Oh non!" Victoire suppressed her laughter as she and Sara pulled Sam clear of the trap step. "I am no 'Madame Weasley', I am not my mother. I am still a mademoiselle. Please, call me Victoire." She looked ahead and called out, "Ibn Yousef, wait for the steps to the right to come to you."

"Vicky?" Al tugged at the headstudent's free hand.

"Please Al, _Victoire_ , we are not just family here, yes? Que c'est?"

"Sorry, Victoire, but, what's the Charms professor's name?"

She turned on him with pleasant astonishment, "But Al, you have known him your whole life, how do you not know his name?"

Al looked as exasperated as Sam felt. "BUT ... I never really _know_ what his name is. I mean, is it Thomas Dean, Dean Thomas, is Dean a title or his name, and _if_ it's a title, is Thomas his first name or last, and...? No one ever says and I called Neville 'Professor Neville' this morning and he said 'Professor Longbottom'. YOU just corrected me."

The stairs shifting ahead of the others, Victiore's experience and their rapid pace quickly caught them up to the rest of the class. She murmured, gently mocking Albus, "Poor thing." Then, so everyone could hear, "Come now, we all survived. As today, your afternoon classes will be a joint class each day, until Friday and then you have class with other houses all day, starting with dyay-dyay. Just now, _Professor Thomas_ will be teaching you about Charms."

A Charms class had weighed heavily in Sam's mind. What if the instructor called on her? Magic device detection wouldn't be difficult in a static environment. What if someone detected hers? What if she had to _remove_ her charm. Elemental transformations weren't easy, but she could control them; other changes ... not so much. And what about da-da or day-day or D-A? That was still a mystery. They must be related if not the same thing. Little of this matched up with her security briefings.

Where Alchemy had been in the artificially lit dungeon, this classroom was several stories up and had a high ceiling. The late morning sun streamed through a wall composed entirely of windows which had an idyllic view of the Hogwarts grounds. Boxes and books were stacked high in front of the surrounding full-wall bookcases. **This** is what Sam had imagined as a British magician classroom. She sat, with Scorpius on her right, Al to her left, and Rose beside him.

"Hey, everybody!" A man burst out the door from a landing above the main desk and slid on his hands down the spiral stair to the floor. His rich, brown face was smooth except an abundance of smile lines about the eyes. He still looked young, though, and was slim and quite tall. "My name is Dean Thomas. Everyone is going to insist I make you call me Professor or sir or such, but while you're in here as long as you get my attention before something hits me in the head, my name is Dean or 'hey you!' for all I care." The students chuckled softly and smiled. Maybe the class was moreso 'charming conversation'? Or were they going ... to throw charms? Enchanted items were rarely disposable but often fragile, that would get very expensive, very fast.

"All right, now, I need some confessions, who here has done some underage magic? Raise those hands, and keep them up, I'll need time to get the thumbscrews on." Most of the class laughed again. Underage magic? Were these little snots really capable of crafting charms already? Hopefully he just meant standard casting. Sam raised her hand. Albus had his hand up as well, along with Sean, Scorpius, and most of the others, all but three. "First shock of the day, those of you with your hands down are liars, check your pants for fire." Hands went down and the laughs continued.

Whatever he was selling, Rose Weasley wasn't buying. "But Professor Thomas, I really haven't. My mother wouldn't let me." She whined plaintively. It sounded like an act to Sam.

"I have a well-known secret for you, Miss Weasley, I was in class with your mother and she was better at magic when she arrived at Hogwarts than most wizard-born when they graduated, despite neither of her parents knowing a spot of magic. She hasn't taught you anything?"

"Oh no, sir. Mother _has_ taught me, tutored me, and I had lessons in Wiltshire. I was told that wouldn't count." So eager to to be right, but the professor didn't back down.

"Yes, any lessons here or at the Dumbledore Home are allowed, however ..." His eyes danced across the ceiling as he held his chin. He thought out loud, "OK, a wizard and witch for parents, one who uses his magic on a daily basis, a large extended wizard family. And you live in a community with a lot of wizards, and take weekly lessons. It'd probably be hard for you to notice any 'unexplained phenomena'. So, what _would_ convince you?" Rose looked slightly crestfallen though the teacher was clearly still being lighthearted. "I know what the daughter of Hermione Granger would demand." He drew a dull pink switch from his belt and made a twist of his wrist. The tome on his desk flew over as he pointed it to him with his wand and caught the heavy book with a thud. Leaving it to float in the air he opened it and stated, "Weasley, Rose," the pages flew by as he waved them on. Rose was curious and edged up in her seat and strained to see into the book as it hovered over her desk. Everyone else whispered and there were scattered giggles. "Fourteen August, two-thousand ten."

Rose burst out, "THAT was Uncle GEORGE! My father says so."

The professor cupped his hand on her shoulder, offering small comfort to the target of his jest, "Yes, yes, obvious suspect, isn't he? But your father also runs the same joke shop after all." He read rapidly from the report, his breaks at a normal pace, but he kept his cheery mood throughout, " _Subject caused a non-threatening explosion within a confection of approximately four kilograms_ , oh, I love your grandmother's cakes, _distributing the blast upon all subjects present save herself. Four candles struck subject's cousin: Potter, James._ " Everyone but Sam and Scorpius chuckled. "Four years old, all four candles, nice aim," Albus clapped. The professor waved them to quiet down. He continued to read in a rushed fashion, " _Investigation determined said cousin had antagonized subject that she was too small to extinguish the candles (and receive her wish). This harassment allegedly occurred for up to an hour preceding the incident. Subject's and subject's cousin's parents were made aware of the suspected cause of the incident and advised that such stresses commonly induce spontaneous castings and to be aware of such in the future. No further action required._ " He took a deep breath. The Gryffindors stifled their amusement with mixed success. Rose seemed resigned to accept the official recitation of what was likely an oft-retold bit of family history. "Rose, you OK?" He was just as sincere as he had been entertaining.

"Yes, sir, I just ..." She sunk in her seat, "I thought you meant on purpose, and I don't really remember how it happened, but, no one ever told me I had a report." Professor Thomas held up his hand for quiet as he nodded and smiled at her.

"You want to hear something else?" He raised his eyebrows and focused on her as the rest of the class finally went calm.

"I guess, sir?" Nothing came until she lifted her eyes and couldn't help herself but halfheartedly return his smile.

"'Reporting Officer: Potter, Harry; Chief Auror, subject's uncle'." Even Sam and Scorpius broke into smiles that at least threatened laughter. "Don't mess with Harry Potter, young lady." And that cracked a chuckle from Scorpius. Having proven himself the superior class clown, their instructor waved and the large book shot back to his desk. "ALL RIGHT!" The students quieted to wheezes and strained giggles. "This is first year Charms, not 'how-to-embarrass-students'. We have all done magic at some point and the most common expressions of that is a transfiguration or _charm_ of some sort. The matter here, shall be controlling when, how, and what we charm." The instructor continued on in his funny, quickfire manner, "Though silent cast, I have demonstrated a basic charm you will attempt during our introduction to 'don't-doubt-what-Professor-Thomas-has-to-say'. What was it, my junior Lions?" Most of the hands shot up. This guy's method encouraged a lot of participation. "Miss Weasley, you bore the brunt of that, now show me up."

Instead of being embarrassed, Rose glowed with pride, "'Wingardium Leviosa', the most basic form of levitation, ... Dean." She snickered at calling the teacher by his first name.

"Quite right, ten points to our house for you surviving an embarrassing tale of your past and still having the confidence to answer. Indeed, I picked your incident because at its heart, you used basic attributes of levitation yourself (and you said you hadn't done any magic)."

Scorpius raised his hand and Thomas waved him to speak, "Sir, wouldn't a 'combustel particula' account for the cake hitting everyone but Miss Weasley?"

"Very nice, Mister Malfoy, five points to, well, wherever you end up, that is a third year spell. However," he raised his eyebrows and stuck out his tongue. His presentation was reminiscent of a game-show host, " _I_ was talking about the four candles on James' face, the focus of Rose's spontaneous casting, at least that's the Potter I would've aimed for. The explosion was the incidental aftermath that we seek to prevent. Open up _Enchantments for Beginners_ , err, skip to page ... thirty-five, we'll be going back to easier stuff if this doesn't go well. Wing-Lev incorporates three elements of casting: declaration, motion, and intent. As for centuries before us, we start this spell with feathers. A few of you at a time, come get one from the bag here. They are relatively safe even with eighteen, err, twenty-one of them flying about and are rather given to flying about anyways. Keep your wands pointed at your own desk, try to keep it at a safe speed or Mister Thomas gets a lot less fun."

Charms, rather than being enchanted items, meant just the enchantments Sam realized, basic ones at that. _Lame._ The officer that covered the Hogwarts curriculum had paused a lot at the class titles and apparently "translated" to American.

Then, the other issue hit her, "Wand?" she said quietly. To Sam, a wand would be an excellent example of a "charm" that took a lot more than some eleven-year old could manage on her own. She looked about as everyone else retrieved one from his or her robes. They even seemed to have special pockets sewn in for the things. Nearly all the instructors and most of the kids at Groom Lake _did_ have wands, yet almost none of them were used in Sam's magic classes (and students certainly weren't trusted to keep the things on them).

Al was the first to notice, "You don't have a wand?" His mouth scrunched up to one side in thought. Other students talked over each other, called out the spell, or read aloud as they waved about their sticks. Professor Thomas walked among the din, observing and correcting movements and pronunciation. It was more chaotic than Alchemy had been, but it looked like everyone was having fun.

Everyone _else_. "What, Al?" Sam held the feather before her. She wanted to think up her own solution, but was distracted by what this boy might suggest. Because he might know something, or because he was cute?

He shrugged and slouched, "I don't think it counts if you make it erupt." He smiled in self-satisfaction at his joke, but Sam snapped her feather in frustration. Scorpius let his feather descend and stared briefly into the empty air.

"I'll figure it out." Sam put the broken feather down and tallied her options. Clearly air was the domain for this spell. But air manipulation was what she was supposed to study this year ... at GLA, except she was at Hogwarts. Professor Thomas appraised the Malfoy kid as already passing and was about to step in front of Sam. It had to be similar to fire: excited particles, expansion, just, minus the heat. She concentrated on her broken target. It reacted strongly.

"Ah, gah, why da nose? Fedders..." Professor Thomas tried to extract the deeply embedded and smoking feather from his nostril. "Ah boy," He paused, unable to get a firm grasp on the thin, burnt strands that poked out. " _Ackyo_ ... _Ackeyo_ ... dabbit." He paused in thought, or pain. "Hajaj, Scorpyoos, you help da udders. I hab a go see Healer Bell. Do 'lumos' if ih too harr." As the door closed behind him, several of the Gryffindors glared at Sam. She had just launched a (burnt) feather up the nose of a very popular and very Gryffindor teacher. Her eyebrows furrowed and she bit her lip. Even she blamed herself.

Al giggled as he leaned into her and whispered, "Nice aim."

He was so amused, the comment so unexpected, Sam couldn't help feel the same and snort a single laugh. Then she realized that just drew more ire on the two of them. Why were they even here? _Idiot Hat!_

Al added, "Gives me more time to practice, anyway." He continued to scoot his feather around along the desk, occasionally gaining a short lift. Sam didn't dare grab another. She turned away and saw the class door close. She wanted to cry, but didn't want to make more of a scene. She didn't like the silent accusations, but she didn't want any pity either.

Malfoy had worked his way up to Weasley ( _last names, last names ..._ ). Sam tried to concentrate on her own efforts. Twin Bears had told them that the central tennet of air form was "to know yourself". Not only did that **not** cover basic air manipulation, it didn't make much sense nor have anything to do with feathers. Against her instincts, Sam grabbed a few more. Albus guffawed at Sam's dour expression, and sent his feather shooting off.

Scorpius caught the feather and returned it to Al. Malfoy took a deep breath "Levi- _o_ -sah, Albus. Your motion is correct, but you must command the object, not request of it." He strained to be polite. Even if it wasn't directed at her, it annoyed Sam.

Al considered Scorpius (was he annoyed, too?), then the feather, _wingardium leviosa!"_ The feather went up, he waved towards Malfoy, and it shot forward, landing lightly on Scorpius' head. Rose rolled her eyes. Al smiled more keenly than Scorpius, "Wicked, Scorp, thanks." Was it too much for Sam to hope he'd just skip her? She'd rather get help from Al. He wasn't brilliant, but at least he was nice (good looking didn't hurt either).

Scorpius stood in front of Sam. He examined her results so far: another singed feather; a white, spiky puddle; and what appeared to be a sculpture of a feather. He went to pick up the last, but it disintegrated into the sand it was formed of. Witherspoon grimaced at Malfoy, "Hey, I was saving that for my mom." She wasn't, but whatever.

Al nudged Sam, "You wanna use my wand?" He held it out for her. It was gray and tapered to an almost sharp point.

Oblivious to the tension building between Sam and Scorpius, Sean spoke up, "Hey!" all three of them turned to him, "Careful she doesn't break that like she did Mistuh Thomas," The comment was aimed at Al. The wand in Sam's hand was aimed at Sean. A spell lashed out in a silver flash. The boy's feet flew up over his head and slammed into the ground on the far side of his desk. Sam thought it wasn't quite what she had intended, but wasn't _totally_ undesired either.

Rose slapped her hands on the desk and faced Sam, "What'd you do that for?!"

Sam grew confused, partly from the wand actually doing something, partly from the quickly changing feelings of those around her, "I didn't ... it wasn't ..." she flicked the wand away from her. Al swiftly smacked it to a stop on the table.

The young Potter finished his turn towards his cousin, he half-laughed, "Rose, she didn't mean to-" His humor and defense were cut short.

"Al, it's not funny! I think he might be hurt." Rose rushed to the crowd forming around Sean.

"Rose!" Al sighed and spun back, "Sam, she's just ...", but it had already been too much, the classroom door slammed behind Sam.

Chapter 8: Dates and Names.

Albus

 _Wow._ Al was overwhelmed. The day had started out so well. Scorpius had been really interested about taking classes with Gryffindor. Samantha wasn't really upset ( _Maybe she hadn't been crying last night_ ) or even so, girls cried at odd times, and about weird stuff. Well, not Albus' mother, or Aunt Hermie, but Gran, Fleur, all the rest of his aunts and cousins, even his sister Lily. Hagrid did, too, but Al wasn't sure how that fit in.

Alchemy had gone fine, even if it was boring. Scorpius clearly knew the subject. And Rose had been nice to Sam. It was at Al's suggestion, but he'd apologised on Sam's behalf, and he knew telling Rose she was better at talking than him would get her to do it.

Then Charms ... Professor Thomas was even cooler in class ( _that book must have a LOT of great stuff in it_ ). But, it hadn't gone well for Sam, or the professor. Her being so far from home probably didn't help. At least Rose was in the house where she belonged. Maybe James and the other Weasleys weren't in her year, but they were still sort of together.

A wand might have helped Sam, and Professor Thomas for that matter. It hadn't helped Sean, though. George and Ron didn't much care for Seamus Finnegan (Sean's father). The younger Finnegan's early hostility didn't help Albus' impression of him. And no matter what anyone said about the Malfoys, Scorpius wasn't like the rest of his family ( _and that other stuff probably wasn't even true_ ).

Half an hour passed without a grown-up. Could it be that hard to get at feather out of your nose? Sean hadn't needed a trip to the clinic. Whatever Witherspoon had cast somehow threw Finnegan yet didn't hurt him at all ( _pretty cool!_ ) Rose was still upset, though.

Some people had resorted to the light spell. It was the first spell in the book, and only took "declaration" and "intent". Al certainly found it easier, but it still required a wand. Wouldn't that be its own "element" or whatever? As soon as the bell chimed, Al was out the door.

Sam stood by the far wall, her face down-turned from the adult beside her. The woman arched an eyebrow at him as he came out of class ahead of everyone else. As interesting as Sam was, he wanted nothing to do with her chaperone. Al didn't think it would make sense to anyone else: Sam could turn into a volcano girl and a ball of fire, yet the plain woman with her was the one he wanted to avoid.

The Gryffindors mumbled about the professor. Rose came up beside Al. "Hey, Are you OK? Sean told me he's OK, I know what she did wasn't your fault. I think the 'delay' thing is unfair. Even if it hasn't happened to anyone else, I know you'll be all right."

"Huhn? What? I'm fine, Rose." Al felt pestered. _It happened to two other people, or didn't you notice?_ he thought to himself.

"Well, I, it's just, I don't want you to feel like you're alone ... we're still friends, not just cousins, right?" She chided him one moment and was worried about them being friends the next? Well, yes, that was Rose, and Albus liked her anyway.

As Rose spoke, Al noticed that Scorpius held close to the class door while everyone else meandered down the hall towards an approaching Victoire. Albus grimaced and almost whined, "I don't feel alone. Hey!" He tried to get Sam's attention as he jogged over.

"Miss Victoire!" It was Finnegan. He was probably going to rat out Samantha in front of everyone. "The American girl threw me over the desk after she shot her feather up Professor Thomas' nose." Sam clenched her neck and shoulders.

Victoire brushed her hair back, held it, and thought, "How strange, we had to start with 'lumos'. You are learning so much faster."

She was so good at turning complaints around. Al admired that about her (even if she used it on him), _Take that, Finnegan!_

Victoire let her hair fall and continued, "I take it then you have yet to apologise for your earlier outburst, Mister Finnegan?" Sam's stance relaxed and her shocked expression was priceless. Victoire went on without notice, "Let us move on to History, or Professor Binns may begin without you."

Al wasn't quite sure what to do. Rose held near to Victoire, who spoke to the other adult, and Sean was close behind. Scorpius was off to the side of the larger group, but kept up with them. Both Sam and the older boy in white robes stayed back. They were too far away for Al to hear them, but whatever he said had Sam upset all over again. She marched after the Gryffindors with determination. The Egyptian boy called out kindly, "A thousand apology and apology, miss," but Sam didn't pay attention. Al had to hustle to catch up.

The others were on the stairs, where Victoire divided her attention between them and her three stragglers. Hijaj caught up easily (being a quarter meter taller than Al). He and Victoire exchanged nods. Victoire ushered on the class while Hijaj waited at the top of the stairs. But Al's mind was elsewhere, "Sam ... Sam. SAM!" She didn't stop until he grabbed her arm.

She turned on him, her face taut with anger as she shoved his hand off her, "Just stay away from me! Don't help me, don't talk to me! You have your friends ... your _family_ here. Don't ...", she calmed a fraction, "make it any worse."

"But -" was all Al managed to say in his confusion.

Hijaj interrupted, "Come, Mister Potter. Let these two discuss the matter and you may reconcile later." Only then did Al realise Sam's adult companion was (still) there. How had he missed that? Sam looked at her handler with disappointment.

Albus relented and followed the young man down the stairs. "Western women are ferry open, in their emotions, it is confusing, but refreshing compared to the mystery behind dark feils at home." He covered his face with his hand, except his eyes, which darted back and forth playfully. Al snorted a laugh and Hijaj dropped his hand to reveal his smile and laugh himself. "Fictoire is your sister, or aunt?" His V's came out as F's, but Al was used to a bunch of accents from his primary school.

"My cousin." Al's parents would have had to have married at Hogwarts to have a child as old as Victoire, but Al was sure he couldn't have an aunt as young as her either. He looked up the stairs to see if Sam would notice where they were going, but couldn't make her out from below.

"She would be the daughter of your father's sister, or from your mother's family?" It wasn't just his pronunciation, he had an odd way of putting things.

Al had to think as he entered the second story hall. He pointed to an imagined chart as he worked it out, "Err, my mum's ... brother's ... daughter. He's a security something with Gringotts. Don't you have any cousins?"

Hijaj chuckled, "Ah yes, but my clan pay heed to men relations only, such acknowledgment of women outside direct family is with the right. This is, what-is-the-meaning, preferred, preferable."

Victoire waited outside the class. She anxiously alternated between checking the hall and her watch. "Very good, Miss Skein will make certain Samantha catches up, Albus. _Shukren_ , ibn Yousef, I must hurry to NEWT Alchemy."

Al and Hijaj entered the classroom as Victoire departed. It looked ... weird, Al hadn't been to this room before. The paintings on the walls were unpopulated, though it was difficult to tell, as grimy as they were. The bookcases on the back wall were orderly and not stacked-up high like Dean Thomas' class. The dust on them made clear the books were rarely referenced, much less levitated about the room.

Scorpius sat in a desk to the rear and Al took the seat beside him. Before he could say anything, a ghost floated through the wall to the rickety podium at class front, tapped its wand through the wood, and spoke. "Ahem, Camelot was to be the final court to allow the open use of wizardry. The court wizard, of course, was Merlin, a cambion of considerable knowledge and ability. There was also the witch, and king's half-sister, Morganna, and it is known that Guinivere dabbled in rudimentary alchemy and astrology. However, despite magics in the Camelot court, it fell to ruin and the subsequent lack of unified leadership allowed old muggle superstitions to regain ground and thus the persecution of spellcrafters resumed in earnest." Professor Binns droned on as the class scribbled notes in quiet.

Al leaned over to Scorpius, "Camion? What's that?"

Though he appeared confused, Malfoy glanced over and answered in a whisper, "Cambion, C-A-M-B-I-O-N. Half human, half demon."

"You two, what is it you are conspiring about? What are your names?" Not only had the deceased professor taken notice, the entire class turned to observe Al and Scorpius.

"Scorpius Malfoy, sir."

"Albus Potter."

"Well, Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, save your discussion for intermission." Sam cautiously closed the door behind her. The specter took notice of her arrival, "And who are you?"

"Sam, Sam Witherspoon."

"Take your seat Miss Witherspoon and we shall continue. Where was I? Ah yes, Camelot was to be the final court to allow open use of wizardry..."

Sam sat next to Scorpius on the other side from Al.

Al spoke across Scorpius, "You didn't miss anything, looks like he's starting over. He's just reading the book anyway." Al pointed to the pedestal as most of the class dropped their quills and shoulders in unison. A collective sigh swept the room and several students eyed Al, Sam, and Scorpius.

"... despite magics in the Camelot court, it fell to ruin and the ..." Sam dug out her _A History of Magic_ textbook and looked through the first pages. "... were remote and seclusive until William of Normandy reunited the disparate counties into the United Kingdom in 1066 and had many accused witches put to the pyre or dunked. In the face of these attacks a Council of the Craft was convened to address the muggles' outlawing of witchcraft in the British Isles. What is it Mister Witherspoon?"

Most everyone turned to Sam as she lowered her hand. "Uh, Sam, as in _Samantha,_ _Miss_ Witherspoon, you just skipped, like, six-hundred years. And British witchcraft wasn't outlawed until the 1400s, way **after** the Magna Carta even. That Dark Age witch trials stuff's been debunked."

"How else would you interpret the new sovereign executing over a hundred wizards and witches?"

"There's no proof **any** of the executed were actual magic-users, sir. The church had been manipulated to discourage even the _belief_ in witches at all back then. William was just killing anyone opposed to his rule, or any rule at all," but the rebuttal was cut off.

"Mister Witherspoon, your ideas of manipulating muggle activities amongst them is an intriguing proposal, but this class is 'History' and not the place for such musings. As I was saying, the original proposal fell short of consensus, however, the idea of establishing an official council to settle magical issues was well received. Even the muggle sovereign John supported maintaining magical instruction and practices so long as they were under strict secrecy and scrutiny ..." Most of the class scrambled to find where Professor Binns had jumped to in their books. Al hazarded a look to Sam who did not appear as concerned as everyone else was, but breathed fast and tapped her pen rapidly. "... before a system of charms or functions could be discussed, leadership had to be decided."

The leap in subject reminded Al of one of his uncle's stories, "Could you tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?" The entire class focused on the instructor this time.

"My subject is 'History of Magic'. I deal with facts, Mister Perkins, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat. "In September of that year, a subcommittee of the Wizards' Council..." Disarray overtook the students. Scorpius continued to read on his own. Sean and several others flipped pages back and forth as they searched for the new text. Sam just stared over her open book blankly. Rose twisted in her seat. When Al looked she held her hands up, raised her eyebrows, and mouthed "what?" Al shrugged and smiled. How could he explain it had been a spur of the moment idea? Then the ghost noticed Rose's hand up, "Yes, Miss?"

"Weasley. Sir, why didn't Teasdale negotiate with the goblins?" Rose stifled a laugh as she finished. Even Al recognised this as her father Ron's _one question_ that cost him an "Acceptable" on his history OWL. The murmurs of unrest spread through the class. Hijaj stood and slapped his book closed in frustration.

The teacher was charged by the question, "Youth! Of course from a distant perspective it is easy to offer such doubts, and perhaps the risk was great, but the Goblin Wars had hardened the Wizarding community against such diplomacy, Miss Weynard. Have you not been paying attention to today's lesson at all?" The expressions of disbelief gave way to sighs of surrender and repressed giggles. "As I was saying, the raid was intended to rescue not only comrades in arms, but to gain vital information as to the state of the goblin reinforcements, to determine if the centaurs, if the elves, had betrayed their human benefactors by entering into treaty with the rebellion." Scorpius raised his book to block his view of the rest of the class. Rose turned back to Al again, her face bright red as she strained to contain her amusement at the easily confused ghost.

"Mistuh Binns?", it was Finnegan.

"Please, _do_ be pertinent." Maybe even Binns had enough of being distracted.

Sean looked about, perhaps for approval, or just to make sure everyone paid attention. Al gleefully anticipated the next derailment. "Sir, do you think the Americans matter to England anymore?" Several checked about for Victoire or Professor Longbottom (or to catch Sam's reaction - a predictable scowl).

"Such an issue is for the muggle government to resolve. Rest assured though, the bounds of the wizarding community will keep us in close ties with our colonial brethren regardless of mundane political schemes. Now, current events would be better discussed in 'Muggle Studies', this is 'History'. Back to the matter at hand, where was I? Ah yes, the council consisted of sorcerers, warlocks, witches, and even druids from throughout the British Isles." Enough quills flew up that it looked like Charms all over. Books slammed shut, notes were torn, Al, Rose, Sean, and several others outright laughed. Mattie Nettlegloves had her face in her book and made noises like a muggle motor. Scorpius slouched down and drew his book close to his chest.

Hijaj spoke up, "Boys, young ladies! We shall not haf this class descend into anarchy. We must clearly not distract this soul from his routine. Resume your place in the book and be attentife by the instruction." Al was reminded of those times his father took charge. The Gryffindors suddenly contained themselves and at least tried to behave.

The professor suddenly noticed the mage, "Merlin's beard! Why are you still here? These zealots are no Accionites, they might harm the students in their pursuit of you." Freshly scolded, the class did not offer even a single smile but looked to Hijaj for what to do.

The young man was clearly upset. He ignored the new line of thought, "Sir, the council consisted of sorcerors, warlocks, witches and _even_ druids from throughout the British Isles." He strained to properly pronounce "even". Hijaj raised his eyebrows and clenched his lips.

"I am in no need of history lessons from you, Saleem. You and the warlocks are in direct violation of the Ministry's edict, there is to be no more consorting with infernals or keeping of even partly human slaves. They will not be afforded refuge here. You and your ... _pet_ will have to leave, friend, before the Ministry comes for the both of you, no matter how well intentioned your motives." The ghost pointed to Witherspoon at the word "pet".

Sam responded with a dropped jaw and her hands thrown out in disbelief, "I got news for you about your 'druids'."

Hijaj responded with a low hiss. Sam shoved her book in her pack, heaved it over her shoulder, and marched out the door. Grudgingly, "Saleem", took up his book, bundled carpet and slowly exitted. "Gryffindors, and our guests, please, behafe yourselfs," Hijaj sounded defeated.

"Excuse the interruption, class. Now, where were we?" The ghost of Cuthbert Binns seemed genuinely shaken.

Scorpius replied in an annoyed tone, "The council consisted of ..."

"Ah, yes, thank you Mister Malmquist. The council consisted of sorcerers, ahem, warlocks, witches, and even druids ..." Everyone obediently found their place in the text and took notes once again.

When class ended, Potter planned to rush out and try to catch Witherspoon. He didn't get the chance. Rose caught hold of him, "Hey, I don't know what I said wrong, I didn't mean you couldn't be friends with who you want. I was just worried." She changed quickly from serious concern to a sly grin, "And hey, you remembered Dad's story about Mother asking about the chamber, too, right? I kinda hoped he was gonna call me 'Miss Grant'."

Albus wasn't sure how that mattered, but he knew it _did_ matter to Rose, and she mattered to him. Well, he was supposed to eat at the Gryffindor table today anyway.

Scorpius

Alchemy was thorough, but uninteresting. Charms was a simple matter, though the Gryffindor first years were undisciplined. Professor Thomas' willingness to jump ahead in lessons was inappropriate for such students (except perhaps for himself and Rose Weasley). It had made Scorpius uncomfortable.

It all fell apart in History, though. His father had warned him about Cuthbert Binns. Scorpius had prepared himself to read the book (the content of which seemed to have made much accommodation for Binns' rehearsed instruction). He intended to note the comments that were not written therein, as those would invariably be on a quiz or exam. The inability to alter routine, keep a train of thought, and identity errors were not common among ghosts, but were not unheard of either. Maybe the student rolls from several centuries back would have the names of Malmquist, Perkins, and Waynerd, yet not Malfoy, Potter and Weasley. He was unsure about Witherspoon, though.

Not that he cared if there had been a student of that name during Binns' life, but about the present-day girl. She was increasingly disruptive, and he feared it could only become worse. There was something else about her, but he didn't want to give her any more thought.

Binns did little to deviate from the text the rest of the class. The other students were properly quiet after the Egyptian boy left. Hijaj could have stepped in sooner to prevent the class from being sidetracked, but he was too young, too polite, or too shy. Scorpius could not begrudge someone else not wanting to speak up.

Surprisingly, there was no new dramatic scene in the hallway. Weasley stopped Potter to talk, but that was to be expected of family members. Scorpius was the last to exit. Hijaj had waited just outside. Once all the young Gryffindors were present, he hurried them to the dining hall. Lunch was quite crowded. It was no longer just first and second years and a few upper-class students. Also, it was much louder with everyone more awake and aware than at breakfast.

Scorpius sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table and found a placard to select a soup and sandwich. He tapped vegetable noodle and sliced ham with his wand. The food appeared shortly after he selected it. It looked much better than it sounded from the "menu". His mother had cited such improvements in service by the house elves as evidence that Hermione Granger's campaign (named "S.P.E.W.") to liberate them from slavery had helped everyone involved. But that was over a decade ago, and Miss Granger was now Mrs Weasley, and Rose's mother. The girl bore little resemblance to her mother, but that seemed an unfair comparison for the child of such a hero.

If only his house assignment was as simple as the menu. The three delayed students were to attend classes with each house, but no one had told Scorpius what would happen at the end of the rotation. He could try his phone, call his father or mother. He held the mobile out of others' sight, his thumb on the power, but decided it was not the time or place. No one else sat near him at the foot end of the Gryffindor table. From his seat he saw Samantha across the hall, seated at the Slytherin table. Samantha was by herself, not eating. Scorpius had no sympathy for her, she had brought it on herself: speaking out of turn in Alchemy, unwilling to wait for orders nor follow instruction. She had injured a professor, possibly a student, in Charms. History might have stayed on course if not for her interruption. Samantha probably belonged with the Slytherins (though, it was also the first table to sit at). Not that she was really with them, but Leilianna was ...

When Scorpius was a small boy, his grandmother had insisted on Leilianna coming over, that the two "be children" together. Scorpius had listened intently from upstairs. It was a rare event in the Malfoy house: an argument. Grandmother Malfoy, as she often did, had started out blaming herself, "Oh Draco, maybe where we went wrong was not encouraging you to have proper friends. I let your father pick them to his benefit, to **his** influence. Katarina's girl is the same age and ... I don't want to see Scorpius isolated like he is, certainly not like Astoria was, the poor girl." He hadn't understood everything that night. He wasn't sure he did even now.

Scorpius observed the students near the head of the Gryffindor table. Albus smiled and laughed at the jokes and recounts of the morning's events. However, when the attention was off him, his smile faded, and he quickly scanned the other house tables. Whatever he sought, he did not find. Only when one of his cousins laid her hand on his shoulder did Albus go back to grinning and laughing along with the others. Malfoy _did_ feel pangs of sympathy at that. He was reminded of how that conversation between his father and grandmother had continued. Narcissa had also lamented on Draco's childhood, "And you, alone, while you were surrounded by people, my dear son." Scorpius felt strange: anxious, confused, and angry. He couldn't let himself be angry. His father had lashed out with harsh words that night. Scorpius fought against a smiliar reaction.

Why did people need friends? Except ... Scorpius _had_ anticipated meeting and speaking to Harry Potter and his son. He had imagined going with his father across the platform to talk and that the two men would greet each other. His father had tensed just at the sight of the Potters, though, and Scorpius realised then it was just a childish fancy. Father had described himself as a vicious, self-absorbed monster during his years at Hogwarts. Was Samantha a monster? Was Albus alone depite being surrounded by people? Scorpius did not know and his parents were not there to help him understand. He ate his meal, and hoped his frustration would pass.

Chapter 9 On Display

Albus

Victoire hurriedly leafed through a stack of parchments on the table as a passing Gryffindor seventh year tapped her shoulder. "Oui, of course," she sounded weary. She stood and was quickly certain and warm again, "It is time we see 'Agrid's wonderful zoo! Dietrich, I'll take yours to Creatures." The other headstudent nodded curtly as he shoved his chair into place at the Ravenclaw table.

Albus had already had several occasions to visit the zoo. Hagrid was a very good friend to Al's father (even more so than with dragon fanatic Uncle Charlie). This relationship granted the Potters (and Weasleys) more than a few personal tours of the magical animals at Hogwarts. The creatures left in their cages and pens were not dangerous to observe. It was Hagrid's habit of taking "critters" out and showing off what they could do that made Albus nervous. Oh sure, Al had not heard of anyone seriously injured by an animal at Hogwarts in his lifetime, no one except the "Care of Magical Creatures" professor himself. That didn't mean it wasn't _eventually_ going to happen.

The trip to the zoo wasn't far. Hagrid greeted them eagerly, "Right, thanks, Vicky, good luck on yer Defense meeting, eh?" The great, burly man was hopeful as his new students assembled in the dirt-floored "showground" shelter.

"If the Headmaster is not _too_ distracted with his second years," Victoire responded. Al noticed an unusual tone of annoyance from his eldest cousin.

"Well, I'm sure you can still get his attention!" Hagrid beamed innocently. Victoire held back a laugh as she waved and turned. The Haiti girl held her face in her palm. Hagrid turned to his class, "Hey, my lil' Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Sure yeh all had a good time wit' Dean and Mandy this mornin', err, Professor Thomas and Professor Tomlinson." It was almost a question. Several raised eyebrows and pursed frowns from the other students made it obvious Hagrid hadn't mentioned the professors for the Ravenclaws' morning classes.

Al spoke before even he knew what to say, "Whatcha got for us today, Professor Hagrid?" That was right out of the Victoire distraction playbook; Al was satisfied with the effect. Only the Chinese girl looked offended (disappointed?), but Al didn't care about her (and even less about her government chaperone).

Hagrid was a little confused, "Well, yeah, err," He withdrew a plastic covered folder from somewhere in his moleskin coat and held it at arm's length. "Like to welcome yeh to 'The Care of Magical Creatures' ask students to show their, um, I mean, yeh have yer books?" There were some chuckles and head-shakes as students fished their books from their bags. "Hold 'em up." Hagrid looked among them carefully, "Ah, good." He checked his folder again and turned away. Hagrid called back, "C'mon, we ain't gonna stand 'round all day." The class followed the massive teacher through the canopied area, through a pair of open doors, and into what Al recognised as the "worms 'n' wyrms" hall. " _Lumos!_ " Hagrid lit the snake-like dragon molded into the ceiling of the L-shaped hall. "Wot we got here are a collection of worms and _wyrms_ , dragonlike beasts that is, that don't mind bein' in cages or, err, need to be." While this was old news to Al and Rose, the oh's and aw's from the rest of the class delighted the half-giant professor.

Upon noticing it, over half the first years rushed to a single display. Along with the older exhanges, Al, Rose, Scorpius, and Sam all held back. Fontaine looked nervous.

The center of attention was at the far corner of the hall. Though the room behind was large, the window was tall and narrow. The creature inside was about the size of a pony, but the similarities ended there. Its neck and tail were long and sleek, covered in black scales. Its head was like an arrow tip, with pointed horns slanted back and out. It recoiled at the sudden rush of students and spread its leathery wings wide, filling the cage. Though small for a dragon, its reaction still earned a round of exclamations. It hissed and exposed the black, sharp ridges it had for teeth. Hagrid tried to soothe and calm, his voice just loud enough to penetrate the glass, "Gretchen ... Grrreeetchennn. Alright, boys and girls, give a lady her space."

In quiet awe, the class obeyed. Al was a bit disconcerted at Gretchen's behavior. He had never seen her startled before. _Thank Merlin for charmed cages!_

Sean's nerves showed when he spoke, "Mistuh Hagrid, can err, 'she' get out?"

"'Course she can, err-" Hagrid either tried to think of the boy's name or a reason it was acceptable to loose a dragon on the first years.

Another Gyffindor barked, "Quick, Sean, jump in the lake!"

Sean reddened, but no one else paid the comment much attention (not with Gretchen there).

Hagrid reassured Sean, "Ah, don't take it too hard. But yeah, Gretchen can leave out tha back whene'er she likes, but ... err," Hagrid opened his notebook, "Ah, yeah, right, who can tell me why she wudn' wanna leave?" Al wracked his mind, he knew this. Before the answer came to him, two others beat him to it. "Uh, Rosie, and who are yeh?"

"Scorpius Malfoy, sir."

Hagrid's black eyes widened, "Well, Malfoy is it, I err ... I guess you both know, you go on then, being it yer a guest wit' Gryffindor today."

Scorpius took a breath as if to find his confidence, "Spitewyrms are nocturnal, they prefer dark places, such as caves, during the day." Al knew why Rose would have known the answer, she remembered just about everything anyone told her (and had certainly been to the zoo often enough). And it wasn't odd that Scorpius would know, he seemed smart, but how would _Hagrid_ know he would know?

"Thas right, yer uh, well, ten points to...," He looked at his book again. "Uh, who get's the points then?" He scratched his head while the class slowly approached the calming Gretchen.

Rose looked upset at not getting to answer (or at being called Rosie), but saw her opportunity to chip in, "Madam Tomlinson said Mister Malfoy's points would be held until he was assigned a house, Professor Hagrid." At least she wasn't upset with him, or Scorpius, or Sam, this time.

Sam ... she looked depressed as she traced on the glass of a shadow lamprey's display. Her voice was low and tired, "Hey, sucker face, no one likes a sucker face, sucker face." Maybe why girls cried was a mystery to Al, but Sam's mood at leaast made _some_ sense to him.

Fontaine blurted out, "Tha drake eet ... you ahre not worried about tha portents, tha omens?" Her worry was way worse than Sean's.

Hagrid finished writing and closed his book, "Ah, omens? Nah, hogwash. Figured yeh'd know that from yer island, yeh could do with more there." He consulted his book again and continued in what amounted to a lecture for him, "I know Gretchen's the star here, but, we do have ta look at who else we got." He tapped his wand on the glass, _"Nox,"_ and it went black. Several of the students groaned. "Our err," Hagrid referenced the folder again. Al wondered why Hagrid didn't just read straight from it, "Our err _Lum-breh-ceed-ay_ residents, that means the gross-type worms to yeh kids, are what we'll be workin wit' first. Sp'fically flobber worms," Hagrid rolled his eyes, "just so you know tha basics." The crestfallen looks of the class hastened Hagrid's next statement, "Now, now, if yeh do well to start, yeh get to work with our more interestin' beasts, but I ain't gonna fool yeh. Yeh won't be dealin' wit' a spitewyrm til yer sixth 'r seventh year."

Hagrid closed the binder on a massive finger to mark his place. The red folder had never been on Hagrid when Al visited the zoo before. Usually Hagrid just took them about showing off his newest "guests". "Alright, now, gonna go 'round to the creepy crawlies, all our bugs 'n' such." Several girls (and a few boys) made squeals of disgust and excitement.

The half-giant teacher continued (from his notebook). Al wished his family visits to the zoo had gone like this. While only a few took notes, everyone paid attention (except for all the found-something-crawling-on-your-neck pranks in the bug section). It was a lot easier on the nerves when Hagrid worked to be a professor and not a friend. Rose took five more points for Gryffindor, "Spiders and scorpions are arachnids, not insects." And Hijaj easily identified the aparating hourglass spiders and burning flame-scale scorpions. Al thought Scorpius might have had more of a reaction to the namesake creatures, but unlike in Alchemy, Malfoy took his time instead of filling in his notes faster than an elf on a sugar high. The tour went on through the reptile and amphibian wing, then the small mammals.

Before they moved on, someone had a question, "Sir, where would _lungwang_ reside if received here." The girl's tone was very formal, but Al could tell she was nervous at speaking (and her chaperone anxious at failing to keep her student from speaking).

"Well I- Oh! Wot's yer name?"

"Xiau, sir." It sounded like her name started with a j, sh, and ch all at once. The girl nodded, brought her hands together straight up before her chest and made a short bow, embarrassed by the sudden attention on her from the rest of the class.

"Demi-humans and senshent, uh, _thinkin'_ creatures got a visitor buildin'. Professors Thomas and Stalvan make sure 'n' help 'n' fit wotev'r the guest wants." Hagrid shook his head and glanced in the folder once more. He broke whatever train of thought he had and turned down the hall away from his dirt floor classroom and to a door Al didn't remember, but which apparently concealed a stairway. "Ah, none of yeh will o' seen this yet." The passage wasn't at all steep, the many steps were long and wide. They passed several unmarked doors on either side. Al felt like they had walked back to the castle by the time they saw a strange light from below. Streaks rippled on the ceiling and walls around the double doors that marked the end of the hall.

The scene beyond brought another chorus of astonishment. There were about three meters of water above them. The entire room was a cut away into the Hogwarts' lake. It was like a solid bubble with a flat bottom hanging still in the water. The entire room formed a single, curved window. Looking for a potentially necessary escape route, Albus saw that the the walls behind them consisted of many varied compartments. Ahead of them, grindylows darted about the edges while merchildren played keep away of a clam shell with the giant squid. On seeing Hagrid, an adult merman waved and swam under the window. Somehow a pond in the middle of the room was open without flooding the chamber. The merman came up halfway out of the water causing a wave of gasps as he shook the water from his hair and face.

The man swallowed forcibly and water ran from the gills on his neck. "New cass ... cah-lass, Hagrid?" He did not have the bulbous head or untended appearance of the mermen Al had seen in pictures.

"Yup, new class, Sahfin, your English is coming along betta' 'en me Mermish."

Al thought if Hagrid's _English_ was any indication, proper Mermish was a long shot in his lifetime.

A Gryffindor girl with short hair burst out, "Can we touch him, Professor Hagrid?"

Hagrid was flustered, "Well I, yeh don't just ask like, I mean, he's a person, not an animal or summat ... yeh gotta ..."

"Is O-K, Hagrid. I um Sahfin, you are 'oo?" The merman held his hand out as if to shake, but he held his fingers and thumbs inline, like a flipper.

The girl touched her palm to Sahfin's, "I'm Mattie. Your skin's slick, oily."

Sahfin seemed confused, but smiled and withdrew his hand. He looked at Hagrid, "Mattie is boy, or as girl? Hard to know with skins clother." Most everyone laughed at this (Sahfin nervously). Al looked out at the merchildren, who were pressed to the glass, as fascinated with the greeting as their two-legged peers. He noticed that some were bare-chested (hopefully all boys), while the others wore many stranded necklaces of kelp and shells (probably the girls). The clothes and hair stuff made sense to Al, after all, the merkids all had long hair, while the human students all wore the same black robes (except Xiau and Sam in their suits). It suddenly struck Al as weird to think that was how people figured out who you were.

Hagrid was quick to interject, "Mattie's a girl. He asks 'cause, well, usually, err, a flippa smack is more polite, between boys and it's kinda forward for opp'sites, well, not family, ta press palms."

This caused Sahfin to go pink, "Is sorry, mergirls not cut hair, have more pretty." He gestured around his neck with his left hand while he held his right up as to signal stop.

Mattie matched and even exceeded Sahfin's embarrassment, turning bright red as she bit her lip and awkwardly stepped back, "I'm sorry, too, I don't like this haircut either, I ... excuse me." She turned and shoved her way through to the back of the small crowd. There were several giggles and laughs from the cross-culture confusion.

Al hoped no one else heard Sam's low drawl, "Ooo, girl likes scales, Saw-fin, lil' young for you, though." Al wasn't sure why it mattered to him how Sam felt, he'd only met her yesterday.

Hagrid brought the class over to observe the smaller displays in the rear of the aquarium. One of the other girls slapped "fins" with the merman before they left. Sahfin submerged, apparently satisfied to make a more proper exchange. The splashy exit turned some heads back, but Hagrid drew uncharacteristic authority from his notebook. "Alright, alright, they shell toss all the time, let's keep on track. O'er here we got some plants that Pr'fessor Longbottom might be teachin' 'bout along wit' wots lives in 'em. Uh, Mattie, yeh should know this one." Hagrid pointed at a blue, bulbous-shelled crab among brown, feathery seaweeds.

Mattie felt her own hand and wasn't really paying attention, "Uh, I ... I don't know many creatures or ... OH, drowning nettles! Right 'cause our name. They grab hold and drown you. Our ancestors used to gather stuff like that."

Hagrid beamed at this successful connection and checked off something in his book, "Yeah, good, gotta wear special gloves to gather 'em, used fer medicines 'n' bandages 'n' such, err, I guess five points to Gryffindor." He furrowed his eyebrows and grimaced, "Ya'all think five points is enough?"

It took a moment for the class to realise Hagrid actually wanted their input. Even when it became obvious he wasn't joking, almost no one had a response. Al was reassured by Scorpius' calm reply, "Professor Tomlinson based points on the question's difficulty and Professor Thomas on the state of the student. Rose Weasly received ten points under similar circumstance." Rose smiled and patted Mattie on the back and both laughed at the comparison.

"Well then, **ten** points, we're supposed be generous to start wit' first years, getcha all eager to answer and join in ... forget I said that." Hagrid was concerned for a moment but joined in with the class's amusement at his slip of the tongue. "Alright, c'mon and, oh, and that's a blue boils crab, gotta wear gloves with them, too, but if yer careful yeh can use one o' their claws to clean and staunch cuts and scrapes, takes 'em a couple weeks to grow it back."

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws followed Hagrid back up the water-shimmer lit stairs. Al was glad this was going better than the rest of the day, but started to worry more that Sam and -

Sam was left to stand out as the others moved around her. She grabbed Al's arm and spoke in an icy chill, "I'll be fine, focus on yourself."

 _Ugh! How did she know I was thinking about her?_

"That, there, it's about me. Cut it out." She turned and stalked up the steps. Al didn't follow. He looked back at the squid as it tried to restart the shell game with the distracted merchildren. Al wondered if any of them felt out of place. How would they deal with it? _Where do you go when you can't get away?_ They looked happy, but Al knew how to fake that.

Scorpius

The zoo was more than he'd imagined. It should not have been difficult to believe his mother had not exaggerated. Gretchen was amazing, but it would have been rude to rush forward, to join the others in pressing to the glass just to see her closer. Scorpius could wait to interact with an actual spitewyrm. They could feed off hatred and strife and thus were attracted to areas of "spite" (they did not cause it as Miss DuBois had implied); it would starve if it relied on that method in Hagrid's care. Professor Hagrid was too kind. He was also capable, but the organization of the place was far beyond his abilities. Among them, it was likely few besides Scorpius knew who helped design the place, but no one would believe him, or care. It reminded him to take extra effort to be polite with Hagrid. He deserved that.

Scorpius fought back his smile at each creature he recognized, with thoughts of its traits, behaviors, and environment, yet so few had he ever actually seen in person. The small mammal display reminded him of his pet at home. Considering his present predicament, its name was worse than ever. Father had appreciated the unintentional joke. It had been a spelling error by Scorpius. While he regretted it, he couldn't bring himself to confess or change the name and disappoint his father. Had it not taken sick the week before school he would have had to explain the name to Albus.

Albus had fallen back from the rest of the class, but at least he wasn't with the American girl. There was a chance this could still work out. All of them could go their separate ways and move past their "delay". The rest of the week might be difficult to tolerate, but, he reminded himself, this was not intended to be easy. Like any other child he had been distracted by silly hopes and fickle fantasies.

Mother would have loved the aquarium. Had Hagrid asked the mermen and squid to be there? _An example of his affinity with non-humans_ , Scorpius concluded.

The aviary was unruly in contrast to the rest of the facility. The former rock quarry had had been carved deep and wide. It was vast enough to fit the rest of the zoo complex across its ground level, and deep enough to stack it three times over. The woven tent of cables, vines, and trees stretched up as high as the enclosure below was deep. The flying creatures would not tolerate the tightly controlled environments of the land and water exhibits. Flight unaided by magic or technology was an enviable privilege, but jealousy would not excuse grounding them. Abundant food and a myriad of hiding spots encouraged so many creatures to take residence there. Plenty of varied shelters and exits provided a sense of security. A three-storied building was built into each of the four "corners" (the valley was neither squared-off nor well-rounded). They offered protection for the resting fliers, and a better view of them for the students. These structures and the adjacent cliff walls were also used to contain some of the less civil fliers. Their disdain for the others' freedom was obvious in their eyes.

The class followed Hagrid as he pointed out the basic and the exotic in turn. Scorpius' mother had been right, just being around the wondrous beasts changed his perspective and eased his tension.

"Wow." Was that Samantha? It had to be. When he turned about he saw there was no one but the two of them left in the tower's lowest deck. Witherspoon started up the stairs without explanation.

Scorpius had forgotten himself in the new surroundings and dropped his guard. Had she scanned his thoughts? How much could she see? Father was never exact in the extent one could hide or read thoughts. Scorpius struck the handrail and concentrated on his mental barriers. It was, in turn, easy enough to once again control any outward expressions as well. The Malfoys were disliked by most, he had to be careful.

Scorpius urgently wanted to catch up. He couldn't let himself be singled out as anything but a good student. His shoe squeaked loudly as he rounded the steps. The noise caught the attention of a cave dweller, its orange eyes alert on the source of the sound. The motion caught Scorpius' eye. A hippogriff, possibly **the** hippogriff. It was not the time to find out.

Professor Hagrid took note when Scorpius rejoined the group seated on the bleachers in the thatched pavillion, "Ah, there yeh are. So, uh, when we have, well, we do have a few diff'ren' types of days here. There'll mostly be classroom days where I'll be telling yeh 'bout, an' showin' yeh our animals in the 'showgrounds' here." The professor even held up his fingers to mark quotes on the word, "and you'll do some work with 'em here too ... those days. We'll be doin' some work in the displays, and trips aroun' the grounds, or a lil' inta tha woods each month or so, yeh know, just to keep it interestin'." Hagrid smiled broadly. "Oh, and visitor instructors, like Sahfin, and Firenze will teach some when they got time." He flipped to a tab in the folder, "Yeh got any questions?" Almost every hand flew up. The inquiries were predictably childish: do all the creatures have their own names, did the merchildren take classes at Hogwarts, when will the class get to ride a dragon?

Then one question was quite serious, from the American, in a tone of restraint unusual for the girl, "What do you do when someone gets hurt?"

 _Did she know about his father? How dare she? It had_ _ **not**_ _been Hagrid's fault!_ Scorpius was about to turn on her and correct her.

"Yup, course things don' always go as planned. Real important yeh don' do nothin' 'less yer sure o' yerself." Hagrid was only slightly uncomfortable, "I ain't never gonna grade yeh down 'cause yeh don' feel safe at summat. We can figure out summat else for yeh to do." Scorpius wanted to be angry on Hagrid's behalf, but both Gryffindors and Ravenclaws appreciated the promise. "Oh, an' there's a fireplace in the guest house here for Healer Bell ta come right here from the clinic - or go right ta her, but, uh, that's mostly for me." Hagrid widened his eyes, puffed out his cheeks and nodded. Most of the class laughed. Perhaps Hagrid was not in as much need to be protected as Scorpius had thought.

Chapter 10 Rolls Down Hill

Sam

"Alright, alright, lot of good questions. Can' wait ta see yeh again next week. Course, like Ah said, me 'n' the older students keep the place goin' on the weekends if yeh wanna come back sooner." There was a keen hope in the professor's words. It was returned with unhushed excitement at the prospect of rushing back before their next Creatures class. After consulting his folder, Professor Hagrid had them separate by house again.

Sam wondered if the British selected their students based on talent or manners. She felt so out of place. A familiar looking black pellet landed in front of her, which by itself threw doubt on her impression of the other students. She deliberately glanced to her right and saw Rose Weasley screw up her lips and smack Sean Finnegan on the arm. Sam's eyes went stone grey. She raised her right hand in front of her, an earthen hand matching her own formed from the ground around the plum-sized ball. Both hands closed. Sam pulled down and the stone fist submerged into the ground. There was a subdued pop followed by a weak but foul odor that permeated the area.

The Creatures professor's eyebrows raised. "Uh, par'on me." He went pink through his shaggy beard as several students giggled. "Now, uh, Gryffindor. Think yer goin' o'er to tha pitch wit' Professor Emmerlinse. Don't let 'im scare yeh too much, it's daytime after all. And Ravenclaw, Mister Creevey'll be explainin' things on the north road."

Sam didn't want to ask Professor Hagrid for clarification, or anyone for that matter. "The pitch" likely referred to the Quadpot, or Quidditch field. The British used odd terms and clung to antiquated sports played on flying brooms. Miss Skein was conspicuously absent from the zoo. Sam was quickly disappointed when she noticed the stodgy woman in her equally stodgy suit standing in front of the guest house, aside the wooden stands the class had just left. She beckoned Sam to her.

The proxy guardian appeared bored but sounded ominous, "I'll make it explicit then, Miss Witherspoon, you are to use none of your _special_ talents at all unless specifically called for by myself or a professor. I do not need to be in visual contact to keep track of what you do." A reason this particular chaperone had been agreed on. Sam was about to argue the point, but then remembered she had used her empathy reading on Al _and_ Scorpius (and for some reason she even picked up when Al was thinking about her - she'd have to ask her mom). She wished she was better at it, but no one outside her family wanted that. At least the zoo tour had gone calmly. Sam no longer felt angry, just depressed.

As the class split up, another group of students approached. Half of them followed behind the Ravenclaws on the north road, the other half fell in with the Gryffindors on the way to the stands and towers downhill. Sam noticed that Hijaj and Xiau (with her government shadow) left the kids and joined up with the young, round-faced professor at the castle doors.

A haughty voice burst out from the general chatter, "Ay! Albay, I would have a word with you, 'delay'! You are a Potter, that's _almost_ as good as Weasley." French and British vied for dominance of the boy's accent. He playfully hugged Al, but then shoved hard enough to unbalance him.

The contradictory display made Sam tense up. However, someone else stepped to Al's defense. "Louis, cut it out! I think we should be first to stick up for Albus." Rose interposed herself earning a frown from the other Weasley.

"'Ee should be in Gryffindor. How can't 'ee?" From the boy's strong accent, Sam inferred he was Victoire's younger brother. He took off his robe and bundled it up as they arrived at the nearest stands. He wore black slacks along with a vest, dress shirt, and tie. The thick, curled hair on his lean, long arms was a pinkish orange and gave Sam the impression of a well-trained orangutan forced to wear human clothes. "Et is that painting. You should burn et."

Al finally worked up his own words, "Phineas Black was a Hogwarts headmaster. How's your flock of bird people any better, Louis?"

"They are aarakoa, and I mean this other one, thee crazy woman. Thee one James recruits George to pranks you- pull a prank on you, by putting her in your room." Students from the older group (Sam guessed they were second years) also hung their robes over the supports of the nearby stands.

"Oh, Wulpurga? Is this your cleanup place? James was all on about not having to do this any more." Al dodged the subject. Sam wondered how paintings were an issue. They likely moved as the pictures did, but how bad could that be?

The wooden tower they stopped at shouted at them, "LISTEN UP YOU FILTH-CAKED, CUD-CHEWING PESTS!" A form wrapped in a dark, thick-hooded robe emerged. He continued to yell in a manner Sam associated with the Marines and soldiers at Groom Lake. "Gryffindor kittens eat lions' scraps! Your previous Headboy Lupin and Quidditch CaptainESS Wood left you the eEEasy work of pitch cleanup. Judging from the House standings I saw on the way here ... That. Won't. Last. Fall in, FORM UP! Smarten 'em up, second years, you're the maggot-filled brains of the operation this year. Nearly forty of you dip sticks! Four squads, move it, move it, MOVE IT!" He pointed about and his long sleeve fell back to expose a heavy leather, metal-studded gauntlet. The second years did what they could to move the confused first years to stand in even rows facing the professor. Sam had seen this done repeatedly by the (highly) disciplined security at her school and lined up at the left end of the last row. "Face front. Stagger out, second first, second first, second first! AT ATTENTION! Don't just stand there hither-dither. Arms at your sides, heels together!" He somehow managed to whine and shout at the same time, "Take all day!" The group stood in four rows of nine or ten each. He continued (slightly) quieter, "Right then! I am Warrant Officer Second Class Carlin Emmerlinse, retired, of our Glorious Empire's Royal Army, Professor of Astronomy and Flight. I hate children, I hate sunlight, and worst of all I hate the two together." There were several snickers that were abruptly answered. "WHO SAID THIS WAS TIME FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT!? Cut the giggles! Can the chatter!" His sleeve barely swung as he drew his finger across his neck.

"This, as many of you broomstick-obsessed adolescents may know, is the Hogwarts Institute Quidditch Pitch. Instead of the blightly bludger, body-snatcher attended, all years, only-the-best-make-it-in standard of centuries past, as with many matters here, our inestimable Headmaster has broken from tradition and split teams into lower and upper leagues, not that any of you decade-spent womblings would notice!" He stopped pacing in front of them and walked closer along the first rank. "THIS ... along with some beating-heart notion that house-elves tend ONLY the castle proper necessitates students policing the grounds." He paused at the end of the first row and moved into the second. "Today you shall be rotating to each area so your wand-quidditch addled minds at least have an inkling of what-in-the-King's-name you are supposed to DO!" He turned at the end of the second row to stride down the third when he eyed Sam. She could tell by the twin red dots inside the darkened cowl. "AND YOU! Sammy Yank-ess, will the States be needing an engraved invitation to participate?! We just want 'em CLEAN, not BURNT to HELL! Don't let that confuse you, lass!"

Sam made out a vague shadow of the man's face as he turned. She clenched her hands into fists. She didn't want to cause another problem, but instincts urged her to fight. "The pitch has eighteen towers, full stands and the teams' tent. Students and faculty are encouraged to sit by house. Staff, visitors and alumni sit as they please. Monday through Wednesday is stands for first years, towers for seconds. No matter what anyone else says, out here there will be NO wand work by FIRST YEARS! Thursday is facilities and field. ONLY SECOND YEARS FLY! NO PRIVATE BROOMS!" He rounded the last row. He paused and lowered his head at what should be Louie Weasley (he was the head of their row when Sam fell in).

In a low, guttural voice that carried across them all he cooed with joy, "Seven years you Weasels have been showing up, seven years I've waited for the _right_ Weasel." Louie gulped. His eyes must have darted about. "Oh no, boy. I already know who she is. Not like her mother now, but like when _she_ was just a girl." He had moved up a few students. Sam knew better than to look, but was certain it was Rose's fast and shallow breathing she could hear far to her right. "Your mother ever stop to ask the elves if they WANTED freedom? Or lil' Miss Granger just take up the crusade without so much as a by-your-leave to her poor iggly-wiggly HOUSE-ELVES?!" He ripped back his hood. Sam couldn't help it anymore, she had to see. His skin and hair were stark white. He had a solid jaw and broad face, but his eyes were red pin-pricks. He leaned further forward as he yelled, "If she gets it in her head to speak up for any of us OPPRESSED, DOWN-TRODDEN VAMPIRES, do have her COPY US A MEMO FIRST as to whether we NEED HER HELP!" Rose instinctively brought up her arms to defend herself. The vampire mocked maliciously, "We can meet at Mungo's Asylum if she feels safer there."

Sam didn't know why Rose's mother would feel safer in a psych ward (as she guessed Mungo's must be), but she knew that tell-tale sound of choking tears. Rose fell to her knees. Louie moved to help her. He looked repulsed at the professor, and crouched to bring Rose to her feet. Next over, Albus had turned and backed up, afraid to do something, hoping someone would do something. Instead, he just forced the rest of the fourth row to bunch up.

Sam shoved off the boy leaning into her and stomped down the aisle before she realized what she was doing. The professor's tirade had triggered something. Sam barked, "HEY!" She kept enough of herself to remember something from History. She continued in a growl, "Your butt still burnt from the U S pulling it out the fire with Germany?" She didn't like Rose. She didn't like Gryffindor for that matter, what was she doing?

"Ohhhh. Always the World Wars with you yanks." He whipped his robe about to face Sam. The gust from it pushed her back and rustled her hair, the nearby students it actually made contact with lost their footing. "You ever learn about Ko-REE-a, Viet-NAMM, AYE-raq, AFF-ghan-er-stan?!"

Sam couldn't tell if it was her own voice, her mother's, or Miss Skein's in her head telling her to stop, but something stronger wouldn't let her stop, "Least we got a war to remember. Last one England won for itself was what, eighteen-twelve? Judging by the smell you got turned around then!" She could feel her skin prickle and tighten, but what remained of her restraint stopped an actual transformation.

The vampire professor stomped up to her. He towered over her. Sam could swear his presence alone felt heavy, solid. Rather than death, he reeked of sunscreen instead. Blood pounded in her ears, her lips pulled tight over her teeth as she dug her fingers into her palms. Sam felt as if everyone else had melted away. His response was quiet and snide, "Ohhh, you know the truth of that, do ya'? Pretty brave out in the sunlight." He raised his hood over his head and pivoted, cutting a wake through the students to the front. He reached the front and faced about, "We'll see how brave you are at midnight. DETENTION! Four hours, THIS FRIDAY! The rest of you, shape it up!" The Gryffindors clambered to reform their rows. If Sam couldn't fight, she'd have to run. Except, that wasn't a choice either. Reason won out, and she stood back in place instead. She missed Scorpius in the second row as he hesitated to turn away.

The military bellowing resumed, "Bleachers and team rooms are swept and scrubbed top to bottom, back to front, inside to out. Field cut interlace, south to north intersect west to east every other marker then back the opposite. That's the pitch then. Move your undisciplined little legs to the Hogsmeade road. Frog Weasel, get 'em there or you and Weed Weasel can join the 'Mer-can' on Friday." 'American' came in an awful imitation of a Texan accent. Sam half expected the formation to right face and march out like the platoons in Nevada. Instead, they scrambled haphazardly to grab their robes from the stands and quickly moved uphill to put as much distance as they could between them and the irate vampire.

"Always 'frog'. I tell eem we are en Inglish family. Doh-mee-neeq says 'ee is funny." Louie had his robes over his arm, as many of the second years did. "You are OK, Rose?"

Appropriately so, Rose still looked shaken from her face-to-face encounter with a member of the living dead, "He's not funny at all! Even if Mother still needed ... help, it's not something to joke about. And ... I don't understand, why is **he** so upset? I mean, Mother may have started with elves, but she worked for _everyone's_ rights: goblins, centaurs, even werewolves and giants. I'm sure she helped vampires, too. Like she said, 'Inequity in our law is worse than no law at all.' It's not so bad that we have to take care of our own grounds, is it?" The other students were too preoccupied in their escape to respond to Rose's rambling.

Mr. Creevey stood unsmiling at the gatehouse, a large brown box beside him. Fresh off the berating from their last encounter, the class hesitated. Though his words were curt and his bearing also military, it wasn't so militant _._ The caretaker was calm and seemed almost gracious, "First years, seat yourselves in a circle close to me. Second years kneel or stand behind, this should be familiar to you." A thin gray rod appeared in his hand and he tapped the box beside him. The top dissolved and the sides dropped to reveal a paper mock up of the castle and grounds. It wasn't magical or especially intricate, but looked accurate and well crafted. Creevey went over his model: two roads, the train station, docks and entrance area that he supervised. He called the scheduled period "grounds maintenance". His manner and appearance made Sam trust that was the official title for this class time. Also, it seemed he was quite a bit smarter than his job implied. Then, she recalled that he was Skein's contact, and that he likely did more than just oversee the upkeep of the school property.

The third area covered the complex of greenhouses and adjacent outdoor gardens. The Gryffindor househead, Professor Longbottom, was in charge. He was even more amicable than Creevey, but still maintained an air of professionalism, though not rigid discipline. Spreading manure and picking weeds offered a good deal worse than sweeping, raking, and litter pickup. It seemed to Sam that the worse the assigned tasks became, the nicer the teacher was who oversaw it. At this rate, either Professor Thomas or Professor Hagrid was in charge of the fourth area, which would involve toilets or ditch digging.

It **was** Professor Hagrid. And the zone included the zoo displays, the aviary, and the pens along the woods. It was too dramatic for Sam; she was the only one who laughed when he called it the "Forbidden Forest". "Well, don' be too put off. It's always gonna be daylight when we're working out here. And Bane 'n' the herd been decent wit' tha students cleanin' up on the border, just, err, don' no one go asking any of 'em for a ride."

Louie Weasley raised his hand, but did not wait to be called on to speak, "And do not tell the centaurs what breed they are, or ask them, either. Even if et was your sister, they know and hold et against you." This warning earned vigorous nodding from the instructor and several chuckles among the students.

Despite the escalating trend in effort of the maintenance areas, Sam figured the outdoor pen days would really be more akin to breaks from the stomach churning efforts involved in the indoor cage clean-ups. Though it was promised much older students and Hagrid would handle the residents, the refuse collection was the worst of toilets and ditch digging combined. Clearly, this structure of assigning tasks based on house standing was the primary incentive to earn points and avoid demerits.


	3. Chapter 11-15

Chapter 11 That Eerie Feeling

Someone

Subject 1: has made no effort to meet. Request permission to initiate. Custodian appears more interested in courtesies than security, may be distracted to facilitate communication with subject. Displayed interest in select residents (HR, NdM-P, CCB, MW. P left hiding and initiated contact, but was rebuffed).

Subject 2: is agitated. Has made use of elemental forms (magma, fire) outside classroom environment. Occasional use of empathic sense. Abilities/Nature may have been cause of unusual reaction from CCB - several threatening subjects discussed, but no full disclosure. Strong belief that Subject 3 has information on 2. Request advice on approaching 3 in this regard. Custodian is quite aware of this. Uncertain how much hazard either poses.

Subject 3: no additional activity to report.

Subject 4: Rebound has made liaison. Subject designated "Storm". Current action is passive observation only.

Subject 5: behaviour and comments have been inconsistent, as expected. No issues at current level of security.

Subject 6: no significant activity to report.

Subject 7: no significant activity to report.

Chapter 12 Lessons Learned

Albus

The day was finally over. Al was right behind Sam as everyone headed back to the castle. He wasn't going to try to talk to her again any time soon. He hadn't won any points, but hadn't cost anyone points either, not really. He hadn't snitched on Sean, and wouldn't have, but Sean had botched it in the open.

Albus looked forward to something that made sense to him. Quidditch tryouts were supposed to be the first weekend, but he'd have to be in a house first. Maybe he should go for the house that had the best team. OR, the worst team, and make a struggle with the underdogs. Maybe they would force the hat back on him, then he wouldn't have a choice at all. Then again, first years had a tougher time making it onto a team; there supposedly used to be a rule against it. According to Emmerlinse, there used to be only one team per house, too. James made it on the Gryffindor lower team his first year, and was already on the upper league team in his third ( _Thanks, Fred!_ ) Was Quidditch even a good idea? It was what Al enjoyed, not like that was rare for his family.

Not being in Gryffindor was rare among the Potters and Weasleys. That wasn't the main cause of Al's doubts. There were at least three more days to go and three other houses to attend classes with. Scorpius thought this was some kind of system, but it struck Al as a stall. Something one parent did when the other was gone and the children asked for one of those "joint decisions": spending a night at a friend's, attending a muggle event, anything with the Scamanders.

Being "rare" or different wasn't the point. _What_ _ **was**_ _the point?_

As they entered the front hall, Victoire strode gracefully down the stairs. Albus thought he should talk to her about this house thing ( _and_ those books about Dad). But it didn't feel right to pester her with his problems.

Unaware of Al's thoughts, Victoire called on her charges, "So, how many of you are ready for your next class?" Eyes widened as they whined and moaned weakly. "Oh, listen to you!" She looked down as she twirled her hair in her hand and a smile broke on her face, "You have seven years of classes ahead of you and you are scared of just one more your first day?" The joke was well made by someone who rarely made jokes.

Samantha muttered, "... a school year at that." Al felt a pang of pity when he looked at her, but she sneered in return.

Victoire led them back up the central staircase. "As first years you will only have five classes a day, with grounds after that, then dedicated study time. You should be able to finish any work you receive each day then, but you have more time after supper. Assignments are posted in the common room in case you or the professor forgot." When she turned back to make sure everyone was still in tow, Victoire seemed to recall what she had overlooked. "Oh, where is Hijaj? I am so sorry. I must run, and I still have El-en-ee. Louis, take everyone to the common room, the password is 'dusty bacon'."

As the eldest student departed, Louis and Rose showed the younger Gryffindors the rest of the way. They arrived before the portrait of a large woman in a voluminous pink dress. Sam was near the front of the group, just behind Rose and Al, "No sh-," she used one of those words that would get Al in trouble, "Old fat, just like the password."

The painting responded vehemently, "Excuse me! How impertinent! I never!"

Louis snickered. Rose yiped, "Dusty bacon!"

The portrait swung back to reveal a raised doorway, but the Fat Lady did not stop in her indignation, "Foul-mouthed, little monster! The gall! The IMPudence!"

Louis went in first, Rose right behind him. She stepped to the side and turned about allowing just enough room for the others through. She tried her best to sound as imperious as her mother when Samantha was about to enter, "You stand up for me to Emmerlinse, then you insult our house-" Rose hesitated, even she wasn't sure what the Lady in the painting qualified as in terms of the Gryffindor hierarchy, "-security. I think you should watch your words as our guest, you're lucky Headstudent Weasley wasn't here for your outburst."

Al recognised the switch in mood immediately when Sam narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. As the day before on the train, her reply was heated and she easily outdid Rose, "I stood up _to_ him, not _for_ you. Don't know why you people let a vampire _exist_ in the first place. I'm not even in your house. Why should I explain myself to another peon, **worthless FIRST-YEAR?!** " She turned back and pushed aside anyone who stood in her way.

"Good riddance, pint-sized ingrate!" The Lady was glad to see the American gone.

She was not the only one. Finnegan cupped his hand on Rose's shoulder as he laughed, "Good to see her told off."

Rose wasn't as comfortable with the praise as she was with the result, "Little monster is right! My cousin Dominique had to compete to go to Durmstrang. I can't believe that girl beat anyone to come here."

Mattie sat on one of the gold-embroidered red couches by the unlit fireplace, "Unless she actually _beat_ 'em." She punched her fist into a pillow, "It's not just her, Father says Americans are always getting into some kind of war or such. They _all_ have guns." She tapped her wand on a stray Quidditch figure. Oliver Wood flew up and moved to guard a girl's face, which resulted in spastic flailing from her and giggles from those around her.

Scorpius was reading the small blackboard framed in the Gryffindor coat of arms. He pulled a scrap of parchment from the peg labelled "1st YR", then several sheets from a series of trays underneath that. He sat in a high-backed, and uncomfortable looking chair by the common room entrance. His alchemy book was out and Al guessed Malfoy wouldn't take the entire hour to finish. No one had ever said anything about Mr Malfoy being particularly bright, and Al couldn't think of anything anyone said about Mrs Malfoy besides "poor thing", but Scorpius sure was smart.

Rose separated herself from the quickly forming wand Quidditch crowd and sat by Al, "Goes to show looks and manners aren't as linked as Phlegm, I mean, _Fleur_ insists." She panicked briefly to scan about. She calmed when it was apparent that Louis (Fleur's son) wasn't there.

Al couldn't help but smile at the nickname his mother gave his aunt for her annoying-everyone-in-the-room moments. It didn't last as he realised Rose and Sam were not going to get along even briefly like Mum and Fleur ("I can only take her in small doses, Harry.")

Rose wasn't done yet, "I bet this whole delay thing is her fault! And being in the same cabin on the train for so long or such did something to you, too."

Eyes wide, Albus took hold of Rose's arms, "Rose! She didn't want to be here. No one else wanted her here. She's left already. No one should have to stay if they don't want." It was better to end the subject than argue.

"You're right, Albus."

"Now come on, Mini 'Mi-o-nee, put that brain of yours in gear and help me with these reagent storing rules." Rose loved being compared to her mother. At least, if no one brought up Hermione's stay at Mungo's (as Emmerlinse had). It wasn't that she was crazy or anything, but ... Albus didn't want to think that it might have had something to do with all the stuff he had been learning about their families. Was that why no one talked about it? Then his stomach rumbled, "When's dinner?"

Sam

She could have busted that pompous brat's buckteeth in, burnt the possessed canvas to ash (apparently despite their anti-necromantic laws, the UK had grandfathered in some of their older products). Sam paced in the guestroom hallway, "I don't need this bull-" A shadow at her feet stopped her short.

"And what are you doing here, alone? You were supposed to be in the Gryffindor common room while I met with the headmaster." Miss Skein had two settings: stern and sternly upset.

Sam's response was rapid and similarly upset, "I'm not a Gryphon or a Lion or whatever, I'm never going to be one, and I don't have to _try_ to be one. There's three more houses and a hundred and ninety-nine school days to go." She slouched against the far wall and slid to the floor.

"Now there we go, that's the Groom Lake terror I've heard so much about. No more of that petulant, mopey-eyed act. If Mister Creevey's to follow, you shouldn't mislead, should you?" Add sarcastic to Skein's settings. The woman lowered herself next to Sam. Sara adjusted her skirt once she was sitting, "How about Garden State Elementary, you recall how that went?"

"Of course," she muttered at the unhappy memory, "Wait, was the khakis dude following me?"

"You know the rule on you being alone ... unless you want to go back to the Academy."

"Doesn't matter. I'll always end up there."

"This isn't - this isn't what your mother wanted ... in you attending here." She turned and looked at Sam with concern.

Sam did not notice, too caught up in her own misery, "Guess I should get used to asking, 'when do I get my phone call?'" The girl turned her foot against the stone floor as if to smash a bug. No answer forthcoming, she glanced sideways at her chaperone. "Well?" But Sara had turned away, any hint of humanity gone before Sam caught it.

"I'm your duly authorized representative of the United States, since when has the government gone back on their word?" She raised her eyebrow and returned the sideways glance.

Sam smirked in response, "Not funny. I'll do my work in my room." She stroked her hair into place.

Miss Skein was serious once more, "I'll make certain you don't miss dinner." They both stood with little struggle. Sara barely missed patting Sam on the head. The door to Sam's room closed and Skein murmured flatly, "I wish it was your mother here, too."

The Headmaster

"Regina, go." Orinsworth draped a towel over his shoulders, dabbing at the sweat that dotted his forehead.

The Hufflepuff househead strained her high-pitched voice to sound professional "Pablo is quite satisfied about Mister Thomas' amulet, though it has had a few hiccoughs with context and does not translate grammar as well as hoped."

The headmaster dribbled water from a waterskin onto his head, "Typical, they never work perfect at first, how's Jacque's boy doing?"

"Andre is an exemplary student and a - ," she gulped, "challenging conversationalist. He has, however, taken little serious note of the methods of instruction." Miss Gabble sat quite properly in contrast to her superior's less scholarly appearance and behavior.

Orinsworth stood, wiped his head with the towel, and gulped some more water, "Well, we got 'im in first year classes just getting used to things. He 'n' Alexei are gonna be a bit bored as similar as France and, well, Norway, Finland, wherever Durmstrang is, to Britain in their magic curriculum, but, it was _your_ idea to have all the exchanges do so."

She slapped her notes into her lap and pursed her lips. "Are you turning this back on me, Headmaster?"

He had meant to praise her, yet she was offended, "Regina, please, for the hundredth time, call me Gordon, and Ah'm not blaming you, am I? I agree with you. It's fair. And the other five, well, four non-first years or whatever, need a lil' more familiarity with our system before we throw 'em in with their peers." He sensed the young househead was not quite placated and added, "It was the right decision, wasn't it, Regina? Now, Muggle Studies, and Runes 'n' Cultures."

Reassured, she responded once again in her forced business-like tone, "The older students are responding well to the muggle roleplay scenarios, but Mister Headma-, Gor-, Headmaster, Professor Garfuhn is having trouble with students from last year needing ... review."

"Season breaks been quite a jolt for him, too." He whipped the towel at one of the boards suspended above his chair and shook his head in time as it wobbled. "Still, we knew there'd be some trouble with our first goblin instructor in a few centuries, didn't we? It's only his second year. Go on."

Scorpius

Alchemy had the best assignment (better than sitting through the class). It was brief and addressed the essential issues of component properties and storage. Scorpius knew his father had been right in his evaluation of Mrs Tomlinson, she was professional and unimaginative; it was quite reassuring. Simply reading the levitation instruction over hardly seemed sufficient, but it was clear some people had not done so already. The Countess started her lessons with the principles of wand work, and such should have been assigned here, as well. Likewise, it was just busy work to read and answer obvious multiple choice inquiries for Professor Binns.

A smile briefly overcame Scorpius. He recovered his demeanor and hastily looked about to make certain no one had noticed. The Gryffindors were either caught up in their own studies or playing games of wizard chess and wand Quidditch. He marvelled a moment at being in the Gryffindor common room at all. He looked over Hagrid's simple and appropriate assignment: "What did you like or dislike about the Hogwarts Zoo?" In his mind he formed an introduction followed by the evidence, support and a conclusion. He outlined the argument and ... and he found himself disappointed in his own planning. This was for Hagrid. He fought his burgeoning smile back and started:

[Neat print]I like the mammals' exhibit best.

Albus

The third-year's classes ended next. James and Rox would be back then. Albus was on the couch beside Rose, he sneaked a peek at her answers while she looked through her book. Predictably, her answers were all filled in. She was only checking to make sure she was right. Al bugged her for hints when she paused (and when she caught him peeking). It forced him to look up some things himself (but he hadn't even finished Alchemy!). Regardless, Rose insisted he do his own work.

Almost an hour had passed, several students of varied ages came and went quietly. "Aren't you done?" Rose asked earnestly. "I wrote about the aviary for Hagrid. I bet all the other girls will go on about the aquarium and those bare-chested boys." Al almost choked in amusement at the idea. She was right. Even though most boys his age had little interest in girls, the same was not so in reverse. "Show me what you wrote."

Al sank in his seat, "I don't know. I haven't even gotten to that. I did the Charms reading and Binns' stuff first, it was easy enough." He held up his parchment for Care of Magical Creatures. He declared as if making a speech, "It was nice to see everything without you shoving it in my face for once."

It earned giggles from several of the other first-year Gryffindors, but his cousin didn't agree, "Alll-bie, oh come on! I think it's much more fun when they're out of their cages." She had to drop from the chair to stand up. She stepped towards the seat beside the entrance portal. "Mister Malfoy, my cousin Albus and I would like to know what you're writing about for Professor Hagrid."

This sudden and, Al thought, out of place request grabbed the attention of most of the room. Scorpius did not notice as he answered without looking up, "I expressed my preference for the small mammals section and commented on how well kept the creatures are, how content they appear." It looked like he was writing, but it wasn't quite the right motion.

The movement was obvious to Rose, "What are you drawing?" She continued to edge forward.

Scorpius stopped, and looked at her. His quick glances around hinted that only then did he know who had spoken to him, and how many of the other first and second years watched them. He hesitated, "It - it isn't done. And - it's only pencil. My illustration set is - it's just a sketch."

Rose did something like a skip towards Scorpius, her hands behind her back. He defencively pulled the paper from atop his book and held it to his chest as he opened the cover to place the drawing inside. Rose had her wand along her forearm behind her back. She let it drop to the ready. Al winced. This was one of James' moves. _"Explerimus!"_ the sheet whipped from Scorpius' grasp and flitted down in front of Rose's feet. She was quick to snatch up the scribbled parchment, "Oh, I did it! Now let's see ..." Scorpius jumped up; his book dropped to the floor. He looked embarrassed, or maybe angry. Rose turned away, a look of glee on her face over her newly gained treasure. As she examined the sheet her expression fell from delight to thought.

Scorpius stood behind her, but kept his distance, "Could you please - it's not yours. I don't-"

Rose turned back, "I'm sorry. It's really quite good." She offerred over the drawing and Scorpius held the other side, but Rose didn't let go. "May I see it when it's, well, when you feel it's done?" She released it before the tense boy could answer.

"I ... perhaps. I don't know. It's for Professor Hagrid." He didn't look at her as he smoothed the edges of the parchment. Scorpius bent to pick up his book and put the sheet within it. The book safely in his grasp, he recovered his seat, scratched behind his ear, and ran his fingers through his short hair as he gazed at the floor.

Rose's stare lingered on Scorpius as she retook her seat. Al's temper flared slightly, he hissed, "What was that about, Rose? He's not a Weasley, he's not used to playing like us."

Her voice was unusually soft, "I didn't know. Wasn't sure I could do the spell, I just thought ... all those things Father said about the Malfoys ..."

Al was taken aback. He hadn't expected his cousin to listen to him, much less consider what he said. People usually just ignored him. "What was the drawing?"

Rose recovered herself and answerred bright and sharp, "Wasn't small mammals, well, I shouldn't say. It was wrong of me." She giggled a bit and put her hand on Al's shoulder, "I just thought I could be as tough as Fred or Dom." She turned back and said much louder, "Scorpius, is quite an ...", but she was cut off by a sudden explosion of voices and pounding feet as they burst into the common room.

"An essay! On the first day, I mean, you can't _write_ a potion."

"You're lucky! Longbottom had us waist deep in the sludge picking out only _pale yellow_ pad stems. Not yellow, not white! No, no! PALE yellow!"

"Non, non, tomorrow you have defence, you'll find the headmaster does not go easy on you from here on." This last one was Victoire. "He never takes it easy on you again." They laughed and groaned. It was mostly third years, but a small number of them were even older students. Fifth, sixth, and seventh years had more varied schedules than first years, but the core classes were (supposedly) the same in every year.

The common room was only half full, but the third years had a different view of it. They used the already seated residents as outlets for their first day's stress.

"Study time is over, you brats!"

"Mandatory alch lab is over!"

"Wandless cleaning in a coupla hour," a girl chimed in sarcastically.

"Least we get to stay up later."

"What I tell you about sitting-" James yanked the cushion out from under Al. Albus stumbled out from the chair as his brother continued, "- with your betters?" Rose rolled her eyes, grabbed her stuff, and left. Al tried to follow, but was caught on something. He looked back and found an all too familiar hand clamped on his robes. "And what're you playing at with this 'delay' rubbish? Neville ain't here ta save ya now." And Victoire was already gone, too. It didn't matter if she was in her room or back in class, she wasn't there to save Albus either way.

Delaney thumbed at Scorpius, "There's the other 'delay', where's the third? That lil' yank?" Al saw that Malfoy had discovered why there had been no competition for his chair as he was bumped every time someone entered, which happened frequently as older students rushed in and out, to and from class or where ever.

At home, it was easier to escape James. It was a smaller area, but he was only one there, at Hogwarts he had helpers. Jeremy MacPhearson counted as more than one by himself. He was so tall he had to bend over to get face to face with Al, though he spoke softly, "First day, ya' sweet on that yank a'ready? Dat's how ya' uncle Ron met ya' aunt ya' know? Watch out!" He laughed and "patted" Al on the shoulder.

 _OUCH!_ Al tried to not flinch. Rapid fire flashes of red filled the ground at their feet. _Stupefy_ called out in comically tiny squeals. Albus could barely see or feel; parts of his arms and legs were numb. He used Jeremy's considerable girth as a barrier between himself and James. A firm but skinny hand pulled at his collar through the rising smoke and sparks. Most everyone yelled or laughed at the explosion of the trademark Weasley Wizarding Wheezes "stu-bomb". Al panicked briefly as he was dragged to the exit and wondered where Scorpius was.

 _"Glisseo!"_ The hand released him and his vision started to clear. "AL! Come ON!" Rose stood up beside Scorpius at the base of a slide.

 _A slide?_ It had been stairs when they came up them. Al careened down, splitting Rose from Scorpius. He tripped across the landing and broke into a rapid jog down the next flight. James preceded his cohorts out of the Gryffindor portrait.

Rose turned to Scorpius and pleaded, "I can't put it back!"

Malfoy could, _"Finite Incantum!"_ The ramp jutted back into right angles.

"HA! You think steps are gonna slow us down?" James slid down the railing as his friends stomped down towards their prey.

Scorpius turned Rose around, "Do it again!"

She aimed at the steps Al had just ran down, _"Glisseo."_ The pair slid on the flattened steps.

James sounded playful, "Don't get in the way, Rosie." Rose and Scorpius reached the second platform. Al watched excitedly. Their pursuers were setting to slide after them.

Rose turned, always a quick study, she tried the spell she had just heard, _"Fini-"_

Scorpius grabbed Rose's wand arm. His brow furrowed, and he looked sick, "No! _Stalagma Profusa!"_ The slide creaked and shattered as it sprung up as high as MacPhaerson. The wooded spikes rose in different sizes and weird angles, covering even the banisters. A few slumped and bent like wilted plants, the tips cracked and fell over.

The older crew stood up straight before the threatening path. A smile broke across James' face. He laughed and his cronies reluctantly followed suit. "Alright, good one, blondie. Catch you at dinner, Albie! Careful, you don't wanna go makin' friends wit' tha wrong sort, Rose!" Al's group ran down a side corridor. "Lay down wit' snakes, wake up wit' scales!" His brother called after them.

Unaccustomed to this familial rivalry, Scorpius was nervous, "Do we go down? Or, I mean, we can reach the ground floor first. But they might know the secret passages. I don't. A witch with a hump ... somewhere, I think ... I think I'm going to be ill."

Al was visibly impressed. "Do you two sit around all day practising this stuff?"

"Weekend - lessons," Scorpius sputtered.

Rose smiled, "You could, too, if you'd ever get out of London, Al. That slide one saved Mum and Dad once, you know." She turned to Scorpius and giggled, "I think my dad was, well, you're kind of-"

"Smart? Polite?" Albus started up some other steps as he spoke. "Nice save with the stu-bomb, Rose. Where we headed?"

Rose brightened, "Astronomy tower!" Then both cousins at once, "Creevey Chute!" They sprinted off along a passage. Scorpius struggled to keep up.

Scorpius stopped when they rounded a corner, "Wait, why not go back to the common room? Your cousin- Headstudent Weasley, she wouldn't let anything happen! Or another of the older students. What's the worst your brother would do anyway?" Malfoy was about to crack at the strain.

Al wondered if this was the uptight behavior Hermione said Ron hated about her when they first met. _Was it what led to her breakdown?_ He didn't know what to say.

Rose held Al's hand briefly to keep him from going any further. She turned and spoke to Scorpius, "School's over for the day. He's going to chase us. Making our lives rough is my cousin's favorite hobby."

Al laughed. "Maybe he'll be confused by us going back upstairs."

Rose continued to address their nervous companion, "And the others, especially our family, will think he's just playing, but I don't like how he wins."

Scorpius hesitated. He combedd the hair behind his ear with his fingers while he looked back on their path, "How would he know? They didn't follow."

Al looked back around the corner of the stairway he had started on. He pulled Scorpius forward, "James got the M'auders' Map. It's like a paper version of a game map of Hogwarts." Scorpius didn't look like he understood. "Um, like, you know, uh ... you know about video games, don't ya?"

Scorpius inhaled deeply and tried to control his breathing, "Is it a simple, top-down image or a dynamic display." Scorpius' response caused Al his own stare of ignorance before they proceeded on their way. Scorpius gasped his concerns, "But, if he has the map, does he have the cloak? The stalagmites didn't turn out very well, but they didn't even try to counter them."

Even more bewildered, Al asked for clarification, "How do you know about the cloak? What's dime-a-nick?"

Before Scorpius could work up the breath to respond, Rose blurted out, "If you spent more time reading the books you _have_ instead of nicking new copies ... Everyone knows about the map, the cloak, the founder's gifts, the twin wands. I mean, Uncle Harry is the most important person in all of it, I'd think you of all people would want to know about what our families, **your father** , did in the Wizarding Wars."

"Gee, thanks, Rose. Doesn't seem a little, I don't know, unreal to you? Dad's great and all, but 'the chosen one'?" Rose and Scorpius exchanged quizzical glances as Albus stalked up the steps. "And you didn't say what dye-a-mic means." Al crept to the other side of the hall. It wouldn't be long until dinner, and he was not going to miss a meal because of James.

Rose followed, but Scorpius seemed unsure about crossing the vacant passage. He nearly whispered his definition, "Dynamic." Cautiously, he continued forward. "You can change the angle, it's a three-dee view instead of flat." The trio moved up a short set of carpeted steps that led into darkness.

"Nah, map's flat, but it folds out to get all over the school." Al counted one, two, three doors. He knew the fourth door was an emergency exit, enchanted to go one way only. It was an escape route, but not the one they wanted. Albus pushed open the third door and dashed beyond. Rose was fast on his heels.

Malfoy hissed, "What if there's a class?" Al and Rose quickly crossed the enormous balcony and were peering over the far edge by the time Scorpius came in, "What _is_ this?" The area was a wide, circular terrace.

Al turned back and smiled knowingly, "Astronomy, no one here when it's still light out." He finally had an answer. He should have had many with as often as he had been to the school for Quidditch and family visits. Why was it other families were only there for the matches? Even the Orinsworths left on holiday (most of them anyway). Only during the summer did anyone else seem to visit the zoo.

Rose broke her cousin's train of thought, "There's that Slytherin headstudent, and the Ukranian boy, by the lake. My father says Durmstrang is like an entire school of Slytherins. I hope Dom is safe. I don't see James or his friends."

Al put his hand on the stone edge and leapt onto the wide railing, "Watch this!" Rose climbed up as Scorpius rushed to catch Al. "Wooo!" Potter plummetted as a tube of blue light formed around him. It started at the balcony and curved out into a slide to the ground below. The bell tower rang out as if a gang of trolls were beating all the bells at once. Rose was startled. She half jumped, half staggerred off head first as a slide formed around her. It spiralled and spun her about to put her feet first.

A man's voice called out magically. It was Caretaker Creevey in a crisp monotone, "Evacuate, evacuate. Emergency exit at Astronomy deck, evacuate. First response to Astronomy Deck. Student leaders and designated instructors rally houses per instructions. All others to the front gate, faculty assist in evacuation. Evacuation initiated by emergency escape deployment at Astronomy Deck."

Voices joined the ringing bells, but both quietted as he got closer to the ground. Al stood from the lip of the blue slide. Rose came to a stop beside him. Albus offered his hand to help his cousin up. He looked up to Scorpius clutching at the stone ledge. "Well ... that's different."

Chapter 13 All Out, All In

Scorpius

The first thing he thought was, _Why didn't they wait?_ They must not have seen the runes. Or didn't recognise them (nor did Scorpius, but he knew they meant _something_ ). Or maybe they just didn't care.

His grandmother had commented on Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom when they had appeared on a non-wizard ( _obviously!_ ) broadcast. "Those two act as if the rules don't apply to them. Look, Scorpy's program has them out with muggle aurors. He's about to fly that motorbike right in front of their electro-screens."

Draco normally watched the television from the front window, while his son and mother sat together on the couch. Before going to bed, he would talk to Scorpius about what they had seen. They would exchange questions, explanations, and opinions. His father made quite an impression on him that night. Draco had spoken emphatically, "Rules may be broken, but not just to suit your whims. Even if you believe what you do is right, all others may see it as wrong." Scorpius valued those times with his father. It was not every night, or even most, business did not allow for that. But he learned how his father saw the world, and was forced to challenge that view, his grandmother's views, and even his own. None of it prepared him for being chased through castles and people jumping from towers.

The bells stopped. It seemed something had entered the terrace, though he could not see what it was. He looked about. Scorpius noticed there was a crystal lattice dome over the entire area. Bits of the structure glowed randomly, a brighter blue than the afternoon sky. Were it not for the urgency of the moment, he could have appreciated the beauty of the delicate, geometric design. A dark azure eye materialised before him. It was hazy, about half the size of his head. It seemed set in flesh that misted out at the edges. Without warning, it darted into his forehead. He felt in his mind, _Stay down, stay still._ It was somehow reassuring, calming. It did not "say" anything else, but Scorpius hoped it was right as he crouched down. A dark streak shot about the area. A large form followed through the door, a human blurred and distorted by the visible torrent of wind around it. "Clear!" The black streak obscured Scorpius' vision. He was held tight, someone encompassed him almost entirely, hands held over his ears. A thunderclap both pushed on him and took his breath away.

Mr Creevey stood and withdrew from Scorpius, "Are you all well, Mister Malfoy?" His face was tight and threatening, but his words were calm and without malice.

"Yessir," Scorpius gulped.

The caretaker moved aside. Headmaster Orinsworth scanned with a predatory glare, the whirlwind settling down to his feet "Where're Potter? The new Weasley?" Madam Bell waited at the door, her wand readied.

 _"Huet cambi."_ With a curt wave of his hand Creevey's uniform and skin rippled and went from black and grey splotches to their normal beige, "Ground level." He approached the railing. _"Telretpense."_ His hand barely moved, and Scorpius thought he saw a blue flash. "Yes, both at the Greenhouses, sir. Call off?"

The headmaster raised two fingers to signal wait as he approached Scorpius, "There an emergency up 'ere, or you t'ree just playin' about?" Instead of a robe he wore a long overcoat of some rough material. His rumbling voice and coarse accent was like that of a muggle movie villain. He was all the more terrifying up close.

"No! Yes!" Scorpius was flustered, "There are runes! They jumped! His brother chased us, well, was, I mean was had been ... chasing ... us."

Orinsworth waved his hand dismissively and shook his head. A smile broke across the headmaster's face, "Guess we know where you stand if all your friends crossed a troll bridge, don't we?" He chuckled, and was only mostly frightening. Scorpius worried what that meant about himself. He slumped and gazed at the ornate tiled floor. Bravery was a Gryffindor trait. "Yeah, call it off Dennis, reset the wards up here. This going to happen every time? And where **is** Carlin?"

"You said for the first event to cause an evacuation, I-" Mr Creevey answered sincerely, but the headmaster rolled his eyes dismissively.

Healer Bell crossed to Scorpius. She knelt before him and took a deep breath, _"Enyo dynosta."_ An array of orbs appeared around him then flitted about and through him. "Let's see if our headmaster's vortex trick did you any harm." She straightened his face to hers and pulled at his cheeks in turn, opening his eyes wide. "Blink, turn, other side." She held her illuminated wand to each ear and held her hand to his chest. Her manner was very deliberate, "Breathing accelerated, pulse, core temperature slightly elevated. Mister Creevy's interventions spared you any lasting effects from that implosion. He and I are _very_ protective of you students." Suddenly she smiled and sounded mischievous, "but, it was scary, wasn't it?" She held his hand and squeezed it gently.

Scorpius looked away as soon as he could. He had hoped to go seven years with not so much as a sniffle nor a paper cut, or somehow he would have managed to never have to look the school healer face to face. She knew who he was, she had to know. He had read what they suspected of his father, and overheard the truth of it. Yet she smiled at him, and was careful, and caring. It did not make sense. She had almost died to his father's actions.

Madam Bell stood using her wand hand to steady herself. "Well, Gordon," she kept hold of Scorpius as she walked to the exit. "If you really want to impress people with your gimmicks learned 'round the globe, make sure you have more of an audience next time." There was a mix of affection and tension when she pinched the headmaster's arm as she passed.

Her husband's reaction was playful, "Ow! Nurse, that girl pinched me!" Scorpius heard movement and a clap, but didn't see what the headmaster had done.

Bell turned sharply in front of her charge, "Gordon! Don't you ... not in front of-!" Her hands clamped down on Scorpius' ears as she turned him with her to face the headmaster. It felt as if she whispered something. His mother had scolded his father similarly when they flirted at home. He smiled at the thought of his parents. His timing was not the best. The headmaster saw his amusement and reacted in kind, drawing the healer's attention to Scorpius. She misinterpreted his contentment as mirth in hearing a conversation he could not actually make out (until she removed her hands from his ears). "Oh, men! No, BOYS! You're all little boys!" She grasped his hand again and took him from the Astronomy deck as the headmaster laughed.

Before the door closed, Scorpius briefly heard the caretaker's voice echo in person and from all around, "All clear, all clear. This evacuation has been a drill. I repeat, this has been a drill. Househeads, turn over headcounts to headstudents and send them to the headmaster's office. Dinner will commence on schedule."

Madam Bell sounded distressed speaking to the ceiling, "Dennis, how many times can you fit 'head' into one sentence? Have them _head_ to the _head_ master's office a- _head_ of him?" but when Scorpius looked up at her she smiled and laughed. It faded quickly as she looked at him then quickly away. "Let's get you to ... where do you need to be?"

The announcement continued, "Chief of Staff to headmaster's office. Repeat, all clear, all clear. This has been a drill. Resume normal schedule."

Scorpius guessed that Bell must have finally made the connection. He resembled his father when he was young. If she knew, he would be a difficult reminder of the past to Katherine Bell. "I was in the Gryffindor common room ... before..." He trailed off. He did not want to recount how he had ended up alone.

"Well..." she started when they reached the stairwell on the fifth floor. Voices called out to each other below. Scorpius could make out Professor Thomas and Stalvan. Healer Bell continued, "you showed good sense in not jumping over the side of the castle. I hope the sorting hat considers that next time." Scorpius wasn't certain what she meant by that. Her expression was warm and she sounded genuine, and so, he hoped, it was intended to be kind.

Sam

Would she go out? Sam sat back, licked her lips and listened as her mouth hung open. First day of school, classes ended, and dinner in a few minutes: the alarm absolutely screamed "drill". Projected excitement and anxiety were widespread, but didn't cause the mind-reeling headaches she had on the train. The emotions were weak anyway. Sam had been reassured that her reception would only be a pain when (if) her hormones were haywire. "Maybe I could go _ele_ mental instead of just mental for a week every month?" she mused aloud. She opened the door and poked her head out. She took a deep breath. _What if it wasn't a drill?_ She stepped out, and took another "cleansing breath" per her lessons. Sam ignored the chaos of the hall and instead focused on the cool of the stone walls, the steady flow of her breathing. She dissolved into a puddle on the floor. In the hall, the stream of water flowed unnoticed along the edge and around corners into the reception area and outside. Sam's vision was greatly distorted, and the voices she heard were muffled; it took a moment for them to resonate into actual words. The liquid distorted their voices, but she could make out several different speakers.

"Wonder if it's a fire?"

"No, then they would call it a _fire_ drill."

"I didn't hear Creevey say drill. If it was a fire, then it couldn't be a drill."

"They're not going to call it a drill are they? What's gonna catch fire in astronomy anyway?"

"Are going we to the gates or the zoo?"

"Do you work in the kitchen?" Many laughed.

"Until I did so just now." Same voice as the zoo inquirer.

"Oh, sorry, Pablo, no, come to the zoo." Could have been the joker.

"There isn't even a class on the deck during the day. It HAS to be a drill."

"Third year just let out, James."

"No, that's tomorrow."

 _James, Albus' brother?_

"Third year Huff, not Gryff."

"Shut jour mou's and step ih up 'fore I 'ave Wamble sic a tree-'eaded mutt on ya. Po'er! Git wit' ya' own 'ouse!" Voice was kind of Australian, raised there or the parents had been. Even in aqueous form that accent was distinctive (though even more garbled). That, and the ordering people about, suggested the Slytherin headstudent.

Sam could no longer tell where she was headed in the grass. _Doubt._ Too strong, she had to shift back.

She rose in thin streams rose from the ground. They spiraled and twisted around each other into her human form. Someone noticed, "Whoa, first Stanfield's guide lights are all over the grounds and now water spirits." Sam's features swirled over the surface when it was full. Once everything was settled in place, she became solid again. The tall, dark boy watching jumped back. "What the-?"

Sam's uniform was dripping wet. "Dammit." She looked back at the boy stuck behind her and the crowd passing them on both sides. A red flash burst from inside her clothes and steam puffed out. "Good enough. Where's the..." Sam noticed the red and gold alternating lights blinking about three feet off the ground. "Ah, grrr for gold red, right." Still steaming, she stalked off.

Turning to another student the older boy inquired, "What year IS she?"

"C'mon, Toby, the pitch is forever, and Stansfield'll have our heads if we're late," the other student grabbed his flustered classmate by the arm and followed the green and silver trail.

Sam wasn't sure if it was her initial hesitation or mood (or short legs) that left her as the last one to the greenhouses.

"Nettlegloves, 'Enrietta." Victoire's French lilt was growing on Sam.

"Here."

"Nettlegloves, Mathilda."

"Mattie, _please_ , here." Alphabetical order? Witherspoon could have walked with the Slytherins to the stadium and back, the Weasleys alone would take half an hour to call.

The next name she recognized was called, "Potter, Albus."

"Cut it out, James! Here."

"Potter, James."

"Oy, Vic." James poked Albus and pointed at the castle as he laughed. The other students near them were alternately amused and annoyed. Sam reminded herself it was not her issue and turned away so she wouldn't have to watch. The "all clear" was called. It was a drill, but the roll call droned on. Only four Weasleys called, a pause as Victoire presumably checked herself off. Sam turned back and stood up straight. Williams, Wilterstotz, Winterfist.

"Witherspoon, Samantha."

"Here." Most of the first years, James, his crew and a few others turned as if to confirm the American voice from the back of the group was actually hers. It suddenly came to her, _Where is Sara?_

Chapter 14: House Call

Scorpius

It was a relief that Madam Bell knew the password to the Gryffindor common room. Scorpius had forgotten it in the rush. He would have to apply himself in that regard, no matter where he ended up.

The stalagmite charm on the steps was gone. His father had used it to trap a chimera in a cave. Mr Malfoy, of course, had kept his wits about him then. Scorpius had made his father tell the story repeatedly and teach him the spell. The power, the intensity it required, had drained him. It had not worked as well as when Scorpius practiced it with Lila, with ample time to prepare and under no real pressure. Rose had cast the disarming charm on him, and the sliding charm twice. That was impressive, **she** was impressive. He had wanted to impress her, but all she had seen of him was his confusion and cowardice.

Scorpius narrowly avoided the mass of students returning to the castle. He was glad to have gathered his belongings from Gryffindor and reached the guestroom hall before everyone crowded back inside. He made sure his _The Bestiary of Europe_ book and the drawing therein were secured in his chest lest Albus be overcome with curiosity. Rose would likely tell him what it was regardless. Would either of them understand? Rose had seemed to, but that was likely wishful thinking on Scorpius' part. He _wanted_ her to understand.

The door opened and slammed in the same motion, "I'm totally sorry! I had no idea there were alarms! That doesn't happen during the summer. It's a really fun slide though." Al became worried, "Scorpius?"

"Oh. Well, yes. That's ..." He did not know what to say. Was this how Harry Potter was as a youth? Were these the same behaviours that had made their fathers bitter enemies? That didn't make sense. "Is ... do you and your brother usually ... run and chase ... is that fun?"

Albus visibly relaxed, "James thinks so. I don't do any of that to Lily, though. I used to tolerate her tea parties, but these days we mostly play console games. She figures out the puzzles and I do the action." He mimed using a controller. An old chime played on the bells. "Dinner! C'mon."

Scorpius actually felt a little better. There was something infectious about Al's cavalier attitude.

Sam and her stout companion were by the front doors as Scorpius and Albus joined the mob in the Great Hall. The girl recited a list, "Filled 'em in. Read it, but don't have a fairy wand. Christmas tree'd it. Said I liked the spitewyrm 'cause something angry and black reminds me of Principal Phi-"

"Samantha!"

"-cause I like scales and horns, OK? Homework is done. Can I eat now?"

"Go." The woman was not satisfied with the exchange.

Inside, Professor Longbottom stood to the side. "Ah, Albus, Scorpius ... and there you are, Samantha. I hope you don't mind eating together this evening. The headmaster has suggested we go over some things."

 _Please include how we will be sorted_ , Scorpius thought. He hoped Madame Bell's mention of wearing the sorting hat again was just an offhand comment. _But she's married to the headmaster!_

Rather than sit at the head of the table, the three sat with the Gryffindor househead at the far end. As they sat, Professor Longbottom noticed Victoire smile and wave from the head and the four of them returned the same in kind. Their food had appeared by the time they looked at each other again, Scorpius next to Al, and across from them Samantha next to the professor. Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. Her gaze went left and right while her head was still.

The professor did not notice, "Ah, pot roast, one of my favorites." Samantha ignored him. She lifted her plate slowly then lowered it in the same fashion. "As I was saying. Go on, eat, I'll do the talking to start." It was an effort for Scorpius to eat while being spoken to by an adult, by a HERO no less! Samantha poked about the food before her as if something were hidden within. Al was not as reluctant as either and shoveled food into his mouth. "A bit different than _yankee_ pot roast I imagine, but hardly dangerous, I assure you."

She responded distractedly, "Yankee. Hilarious. Limey Jello for desert?"

The professor did not seem to hear, "Sorry?" Samantha took a tentative bite, shrugged and began to eat normally. "Well, the matter at hand is to teach you about Godric Gryffindor, our house values and such." Scorpius felt he should speak his thoughts, but held back. Courage hardly needed explaining. Those that required definitions for chivalry and nobility could not be expected to understand no matter how explicitly or eloquently they were told. Samantha looked offended, a rather common expression for her, Scorpius realised. The professor continued on, "However, I can't find it in me to sell the house, so to speak." He laughed, all four of them seemed to appreciate the humor of it in varying degrees.

"I think ..." Scorpius was afraid he spoke out of turn, but no one corrected him, "I think the Sorting Hat tells it well enough. I'm just not sure what we did- what _went_ wrong."

Longbottom was quick to respond, "No, no. No one is saying any of you did anything wrong. It's a rather unique situation, though. The closest thing we have to it was a student requesting to change houses."

Albus gulped down his food and blurted, "What happened ta him?"

"Well, it could have been a 'her', it was quite a time ago, Al, but yes, he was a boy from what we know. He, err, wanted to go from, well, he wanted to go to another house, as it was, not that it applies here. And his decision shouldn't influence yours." Scorpius liked the Gryffindor Head's awkwardly amicable disposition. "But, yes, as Mister Malfoy said ..." the man paused, "the Sorting Hat does a good job of summing up the houses. However, if any of you wanted to ask anything ... " The professor shook his head. His words stuck in his mouth. "No. Eleven years old." He snickered, but he spoke glumly, "It's too much to expect anyone so young to know what to ask, no matter who they are, or who ..." The man didn't seem to have spoken to them; his gaze was distant, on some point far beyond. Samantha set her fork down, and watched the professor with concern. Even Al paused in his rapid intake to consider the morose speech. "The sorting does not tell who you are. It only suggests at who you might become." He looked around at the young students and smiled as if he had found what he said reassuring to himself, as well.

Each turned back to eating, more solemn than when the meal had started; the four of them silent in a cacophony of conversations in the hall. Al broke the group's calm, "Professor Nevvvooongbottom?"

The professor grinned broadly at Al's self correction, "Yes, Albus, say what's on your mind."

"Was there ever a Gryffindor who wasn't brave?"

The househead cleared his throat. Scorpius guessed who the first such person to spring to mind was, especially considering that it was Potter that asked. Scorpius angered at the thought of the Potters' "friend" that had betrayed them. "Well I'd say myself first off." Scorpius almost choked in shock. "Are you all right?" Scorpius nodded and used a drink to cover his distress.

No one readily accepted the professor's response, not even the American, "But you're the houseguy, head, or whatever. That isn't just an admin thing, is it?"

Professor Longbottom clarified, "Administrative? Not solely. But I spent my time here amongst people much braver than myself, and did little to justify my original choice until my schooling was nearly over," he chuckled briefly, "Very nearly over for good." He sipped his drink, his mood much improved.

Scorpius caught the "choice" comment. Maybe they would be allowed to choose where they went. There was some small glimmer of hope in that.

The professor went on, "I have been told, by some of those same people, that I earned my place, though I'm not quite sure of that myself. And, I know of at least one Gryffindor alum who was genuinely despicable. As I said, it is not a matter of who you are, but a suggestion of who you might become."

Scorpius was satisfied that _this_ time the referenced person was Peter Pettigrew, the traitor that served as henchman to the man that murdered Albus' grandparents.

The four resumed eating. After a minute, Samantha stopped eating and nearly mimicked the professor's prior solemn demeanor, "So, have there been stupid Raven people, or anti-social Hupplefluffs, or, I don't know what's the opposite of Slythern, someone said they aren't about purity, but they used to be."

The Gryffindor househead took another sip from his drink, and thought before he replied, "Heh, I know a Ravenclaw who doesn't possess what most of her fellows would claim is wit or wisdom, but I can't really think of a 'stupid' one. I have it on good authority that there have been many less-than-cordial Hufflepuffs." Al choked on his drink briefly, but waved off any concern and grinned as he resumed eating. "And both the most infamous and the most honorable of Slytherin were only 'half-blood', as it's been called. Miss Stansfield, this year's Slytherin headstudent, is wholly muggle raised, yet has a remarkable talent with illusions."

It was not good enough for Samantha, "I don't get it. What's the point of the houses then? Is competition some boarding school thing? I don't know if this is the kind of stuff I have to do as part of the exchange."

"Interesting objection, Miss Witherspoon." He moved his food about with his fork and suppressed a laugh. "But I think you've proven yourself wrong." He turned at the waist towards the girl and sat up straight in playful confrontation.

She cocked her eyebrow in disbelief, but didn't fight back. "So, what's the point?"

"Tradition." He paused, "Dean, well, Professor Thomas, _and_ the headmaster, both spent some time overseas, but ... one thing I gleaned from their stories was that Americans are rather expedient about their magic. Your elemental changes for instance (odd that Mister Finnegan kept hushed on that, isn't it?) Historically speaking, when did your school start teaching those methods?"

Samantha brightened at the joking aside and even more so at the inquiry. "Oh, easy. In nineteen fifty-four, when Rappaport's was overturned. That's a big deal in the school hist'ry. It was 'cause the Navajo wind-walkers proved how good they were in the war. And the demon contract thing was _pret-ty_ UN-popular with what happened in Germany. I mean, when everyone figured out _what_ had happened."

Professor Longbottom nodded, "Yes, the U.S. saw magic they could use, and adopted it. I think it's one of the best aspects of American, well, _modern_ American wizarding: you use what works. Ilvermony might still teach magic much like Hogwarts with wands and incantations, but they include instruction on warlock practices we've abandoned. There's naturalist magic, native shamanism, elementalism, African and Asian mystic practices. The 'magic kingdoms' have even more in-depth instruction in those 'non-European' arts ... while doing away with house division, owl mail, in addition to more modern uniforms. We," his wand was in hand and he tapped the brim of his pointed hat as several red and yellow sparks trailed from the tip, "have tradition. For better or worse."

Scorpius was convinced the professor's definition was right, but had a twinge of doubt that the reasoning was proper.

Samantha shook her head in resigned acceptance. "OK, I guess." She put her hands in her lap. Uncharacteristically polite, she inquired, "If that's all, sir, may I be excused?"

"If you're certain you've had enough to eat." The implied permission led to Samantha hopping from the bench and dashing out the hall.

Albus

Al was relieved to have picked up on Snape as an honorable Slytherin, but wasn't sure who the other half-blood one was. Maybe Neville didn't like the Malfoys either and meant one of them, but didn't want to be rude to Scorpius. He wasn't sure who the despicable Gryffindor was (and as much as Sean had annoyed him, he hoped it wasn't Finnegan or anyone else at Hogwarts). Albus didn't quite understand how Neville meant to help them with the house issue. However, talking to him made Al sure of what he'd thought before: The school didn't know how to sort them.

Oddly, that gave him hope. He'd been given an idea when he wore the hat. It could still work out. At least, it could from the school side of things. The other two students involved were becoming less likely to go along with it, though. Scorpius had been fine until the chase thing with James. Al had only ever heard anyone mention the Malfoys having the one kid, and he'd heard that only children weren't as quick to get how brothers and sisters were ( _ahem, Hermione_ ). From primary school, Al suspected the Potter/Weasley family's behavior was unusual, and Scorpius' reaction confirmed it wasn't just odd compared to muggles.

On the other hand, Sam was, well, weird all on her own. The day started well enough, and she was happy at the end (though for the life of him Al didn't know what had changed), but all between she had been angry, sullen, mean, or distant. There must have been something back in her room, and the instincts of a middle child pushed him to find out what it was.

Neville went on about being offered Hufflepuff or Gryffindor when he'd been sorted. The young Potter was too distracted, in too much of a hurry, to realize how the professor's story was so close to Mr Potter's sorting.

The second guest room door was closing when Al reached the hall. He opened his door quietly and made quickly for his trunk. He retrieved a black leather case labeled "WWW", unlatched it and unfolded it. He held up an eye-patch with a glass lens on it. _No, need time and visual contact to tune it._ He picked out a short pink tube. He tapped it with his wand. Nothing happened. He tried again, still nothing. He tried the other end. It didn't work. He grabbed a glass from the bathroom and peeled off the paper wrap. Hermione was not just an only child, but muggle-raised, and she had taught him the coolest unmagical tricks. Of course, she was still a Weasley.

Al opened his room door cautiously. Sam was talking. It could be the woman was in there. The Chinese girl was the only other exchange student who had a chaperone. _Is it because their countries are so big?_ Albus was glad he was alone, and that he hadn't said that out loud; it sounded stupid enough in his head. He edged into the passage.

"I don't know, place like this is going to have awful reception, Mom. Any better? I'm by the door." He wouldn't even need to put the glass against the door. "I don't care about the rules ... ugh, OK, let me set a privacy ward then. I think the boys can hear." She knew that they had heard her crying.

Al thought of writing his father to ask if there was some way to counter the thought reading thing (he wasn't really allowed to use the mirror to call except for emergencies). Scorpius' reaction to using a mirror probably meant Mr Malfoy had the same rule. Samantha was mumbling, Al looked and saw no one was looking down the guestroom passage. _She knew how to set wards at her age? Without a wand?_ He tapped the extendable "ear" one more time. It snaked down and across to Sam's door, becoming clear as it went. It hit an invisible barrier that rippled at the base of the door.

"It's not working, why can't we just ... yeah, Mom. I'll try the hall." Al dropped the visible tip of the magic listening device on the floor along his door. With the Chief Auror for a father, Al had the skill and practice to close a door silently even in a rush. Samantha's words were strange, _"Beh harees as-suri wa as-skoot kul aus-sowt."_

Al looked under the door and saw the "user" end of the ear backlit by a red flash. It was very close to the hinged end of the door. He used his wand to fish the tube's end inside. He brought it up to his ear ... and heard nothing. Was **all** magic cut off in the guest rooms? Al craned his neck to look up. _No._ The picture board still showed what was currently happening about the campus. He could barely make out the Great Hall shot of the staff table. Neville leaned over to speak to the Headmaster. The room door opened and banged into Al.

Scorpius looked around the blocked door's edge, "What are you - are you well?" Malfoy didn't seem the type to take lying very well. However, the whole truth wasn't a good idea either, "Err, a toy my uncle gave me, it was working before, but now ... it isn't."

"Oh." His raised eyebrows hinted that Scorpius knew something more about the situation. Malfoy closed the door, walked to the clothes rack and hung up his robe. "You can't, well, no one is supposed to be able to initiate magic in the guest rooms. And ..." Al turned to see what the hesitation was about. "Samantha is sitting in a red circle in the hall. Are you two ... playing?"

"Kind of." It wasn't an outright lie. Al had forgotten the tube by his ear.

Sam's voice was normal in tone, but much, much louder, "I DON'T KNOW, I SET THE WARD RIGHT BUT THEN THE PHONE WENT OUT." Al pulled the tube from his ear. The way he leaned on his elbow at an angle to the corner helped hide what he was doing from his roommate. Then again, he was laying on a stone floor with his head by the door hinges. That was not normal. Al missed some of what Sam said, "and half the battery drained. This place is enchanted out the max, total M-E-D." She continued quietly, the pauses were brief. "Yeah, I'm by the door, it's the only place with reception, lucky for anything in a castle, right? The ward should've worked, but, whatever ... Huhn? ... Oh. Two guys from the train. ... Yeah. All the way from London. ... The countryside was _real_ pretty. Near London it was all cityscape, none of that quaint village stuff 'til you get way out. ... It doesn't matter, Mom, I don't think they like me. ... No. ... You're right but ... I don't want to talk about it." A longer pause than the others. "I know. But annnyways, my first class was in a dungeon. ... What? No, no racks, Mom, c'mon. But they **did** have a bunch of toxic stuff _right_ behind the teacher. ... They probably do that at Kill-for-money, too, but all that kablooey insta-crit poison is in the armory or the hazmat locker at Gloom. ... Yeah? I think they'd go for that here, too. ... HA! Don't tell Mister Phillips that. Oh, and the dungeon was just like one of the bunker tunnels you hate." She laughed, "We should do Paris then ... some day."

"Are you sure you're well?"

Al had forgotten about Scorpius. In Albus' shock the enchanted ear fell from his actual ear. "Yeah, fine. It's just, it started working, like, I don't know why, and," Al tried to act casual as he felt about for the lost tube. Scorpius was looking right at the black case, with a sneak-o-scope, foe mirror, as-you-see, and all the other spying and anti-spying devices from Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. _Sloppy work, Potter_ , Al thought to himself.

"That's a ... are you using an extendable ear to listen in on her?"

 _Busted!_ Al sighed, "Well, an improved, _invisible_ extendable ear ... I was anyway." He sat up and barely caught his "toy" before it rolled under the door's edge. He held it, but it was too short to use without laying down on the stone floor. Al looked at Scorpius and expected the disappointed glare of his mother when she caught him in the act.

"Did ... she mention us, or ..."

Al couldn't contain the relief and delight on his face. He splayed back out and reinserted the magic ear.

"You should clean that." _That_ was more like what Al expected from Malfoy.

He couldn't make out what was said. Maybe the listening end did need to be cleaned. As he did so, Al hissed over his shoulder, "She said something, called us boys on the train, and did some silence thing 'cause we're next door." The noise was still mumbled. Then Albus realized why.

Samantha was sobbing, hard. Her speech came out choked and wet. "Mom! No. It's not your fault. It's just a dumb hat and I'd be just as screwed up any other way. Hell! You should hear all the sob stories and BS excuses at Groom Lake. Most of 'em from 'typical' families and it's all divorce, neglect, hovering, abuse, spoiled, whatever. The grass is always greener ... all different parents and we're all just screw ups. All these kids here are like those old movies. They're nice and polite and, oh damn! That guy! The one Aunt Lannis went on about. I forgot he'd be here ... Yeah, he's a grown up and all, but his son's one of those guys, but he's totally cool and casual (and cute), and his father is this hero, rock-star wizard, but he didn't brag or even bring it up, like he's just any other kid with just any other dad. It's so unreal here and I'm just this walking fail. I mean, I've pissed off everyone. I exploded a feather up a teacher's nose and yelled at another and I don't even know why ... Mom, stop ... I love you." The whole thing had just gone far from fun for Al. He sat up. Guilt washed over him.

Scorpius sat unchanged. "Listening in can be ..." Al knew Scorpius wasn't about to lecture him, in fact, he sounded like he had heard Sam and been just as hit by the pain in her voice. "You ... you hear things you weren't meant to. Things, that ... you don't want to know."

Al knew Scorpius had something he didn't want to know. Albus wished he knew what it was. Not so he could be in on the secret, but so that he could tell what he had just heard, and maybe he wouldn't be as upset. Then maybe Scorpius wouldn't be as bothered as much by what he had to keep secret, too. "I looked at your texts yesterday." It wasn't what Al wanted to admit, but it wouldn't hurt anyone else to tell.

Scorpius gave a weak grin, "I should lock my phone." Silence fell over the room as Al curled up his extendable ear. "Why?"

"I don't know, thought maybe your dad would know something, about, you know, the hat." Again, Albus was glad to have this unusual acceptance of his spying.

The other boy was pleased at the compliment, "No. Just ... I think it's 'trust' more than advice."

Al stood and started to the bathroom. "Yeah, my dad said something like that at King's Cross." He patted Scorpius' knee as he passed. The admission helped both of them as he had hoped.

Chapter 15: Early Transformations

Scorpius

It had been difficult to fall asleep. It was always difficult to sleep after hearing something one was not meant to hear. Or was it not being able to sleep that had led Scorpius to overhear such conversations in the first place? Potter was the one who actually eavesdropped this time, though. Scorpius did not know what it was Samantha could have said to make Albus look so shamed. It was the first time Al had expressed that emotion. Then again, Scorpius had only known him for two days now. It was putting too much stock in the books and newspapers he had read that made him feel he knew anything about the Potters at all.

Today could salvage "the plan". The plan was all but dead, but it still held a shred of possibility for Scorpius.

The second day with his roommate proved as comical as the first. Al was like descriptions Scorpius had heard of undead inferi controlled by an invisible hand. Al's eyes were so close to shut Scorpius imagined he moved about by instinct alone. Then, his robes donned and bag in hand, he grasped the door handle as if it held a secret source of energy, he quaked through a yawn and openned his eyes. "Ah, morning, Scorp. Ready for our badger day?" The power of the door was apparently done with its recharging. Al swung it wide. And immediately jumped back amid scattered sparks as he slammed the door. The comparison was suddenly much less amusing.

"Mister Potter. Good reactions, but you are not my suspected ambusher." It was a rather deep voice and sounded ominous. Al cautiously reopened the door. A man stood outside the door, his back to them, hands at the small of his back, wand in hand. It looked as if he was examining the school photo board. The man was actually a teenager. It was the Hufflepuff Headstudent, Terrance Wamble. "O'Donnell prefers old fashioned line-of-sight advantages in our impromptu encounters. What does that mean to you, delayed one?"

Al was uncertain, "Watch your back?"

"Quite right. Delay? Perhaps you seek to delay the inevitable." There was something not quite right in how the older boy spoke. He sounded, even appeared, hostile and grim. Yet something made Scorpius think this was not so. The older boy turned and knocked on Samantha's door. "Young woman, though, in theory, I do have all morning, _you_ do not. Make haste!"

Samantha skidded to a stop as she exitted. She secured her pack to her shoulder and closed the door behind her. "Yes, sorry." She appeared expectant of something as she looked at Scorpius and Al. "Very sorry." She avoided further eye contact.

The officious headstudent gestured his wand to his right and left as he turned to exit the narrow hallway. The air about him hummed. "Alphabetical hosting was expedient. Are you three an anomaly, or a harbinger of Hogwarts' evolution?" He made his way into the bustle of young students on their way to the Great Hall. It was difficult to tell if his purposeful stride or darting glare caused the path to clear ahead of him.

The spectacle that occurred on entering the hall seemed even more likely the cause. The same sparks that Al had deftly avoided earlier erupted again. However, the victim was caught this time. James Potter complained as he was stuck in mid-leap beside Al. "Hey, ow, quit it. It stings, c'mon, stop it. Errr." Al smirked in satisfaction, while Samantha continued to avert her eyes. Scorpius strained to see the Gryffindors, but as the furthest table, their reaction was difficult to discern.

Wamble turned and scrunched up his face as he examined this would-be attacker. "Not quite as fast as your brother are you? Were we to put you on brooms I wonder if that would still be the case. Up rather early considering Hufflepuff holds pitch rights this morn." James continued to struggle and demand his release. The older Hufflepuff boy seemed uninterested as he looked around the hall. He looked like a bulldog as he barked out, "Dieter! I propose a truce from now until tomorrow night as we are distracted by our delayed charges." He chuckled and his whole body shook slightly. The pun further hinted at the mischievous undertone Scorpius could not quite identify himself.

A younger boy sat up from the Slytherin table beside them. It was difficult to take in at first, because as the boy stood, his form rose to where he hovered half a meter over the floor. Like spilled oil, his lines stretched up and down and changed color as they filled in a larger, different person. It was the Ravenclaw headstudent, "Forfeiture declared if hostile action is taken during said truce?"

Wamble's face pinched and he nodded. "A page from Stansfield's book? I'll take that into account. You connive Potter to jump his brother in my company?" He relaxed his brow to make it seem a more polite inquiry than it sounded.

"Oh no, but I saw the opportunity." Dietrich flicked his wand and James was released. "But you appear to have stasis charges up, only two, just the rear flanks. I had _already_ taken that into account." Each teen changed his wand to his off-hand and they shook hands. "Truce. Now, if you'll excuse, I need to get to the clinic." As James flexxed his face and hands to remove the effects of the trap, the athletic Weasley with dark skin and hair an odd hue of brown pushed Al's brother along to the Gryffindor end of the hall.

Wamble called over his shoulder, "Truce and good luck. Come firsters, breakfast awaits."

The group sat to the right of the headstudent seat. Al was closest, with Samantha beside him. He nudged her, "Hey, Professor Thomas is back." She craned her neck and leaned back to see the Charms professor right as he looked their way. He tapped the side of his nose with one finger, held a finger to each eye, then pointed at her. Professor Thomas nodded menacingly, but couldn't hold it for long. He broke up in laughter. His exuberance drew the attention of Professor Longbottom beside him. The Gryffindor househead fixed his colleague with an admonishing glare. The laughter sputtered to an end with a roll of the eyes. Samantha initially reacted with strained concern. She relaxed in time with the professor's outburst. Scorpius saw that Al almost moved to reassure Samantha, but looking at her, she appeared even more disappointed with her breakfast. She let out a deep sigh as she stared at her plate.

 _What could anyone find fault with Hogwarts food?_

Wamble had turned to confirm Professor Thomas' presence as he chewed. He faced the table again and swallowed, "Back? He has five Hufflepuff classes on Monday. I'm quite sure I would have heard if he'd gone missing." The three younger students shared confused expressions. After another bite he continued, "Though, he was absent from dinner."

After a few minutes, quietter than his previous comments, the older student broke the monotony of chewing and clinking utensils, "All these people talking, it's still like blessed silence without that overbearing, low-flying cloud." Al, Scorpius and Samantha were all at a loss. In a cartoonish imitation of a Parisian accent, Wamble mocked, "But Tare-reeh! I know zeez zings alreadee. If eet eez help with zee young onez eez wee, but eef not I would join my peerz and leern." Older students, all of them with Quidditch robes and pads, had sat across from the delayed trio. They did nothing to hide their amusement. Scorpius' was anxious to not react. Al and Samantha's eyes went wide as they choked back their giggles. Terry nodded knowingly. "The hallmarks of our house may be unity and perseverance, but it does not demand of one to tolerate **all** behaviours indefinitely." He gulped down the remainder of his drink. "Speaking of Hogwarts' evolution, your classes today will be Transfiguration, Defense, Muggle Studies, and then Herbology after lunch."

Scorpius pleaded, "What does our schedule have to do with Hogwarts' evolution?"

Samantha simultaneously ate and grasped at one of her pigtails, discomfort evident on her face.

"Each year since taking over as Headmaster, since before my time mind you, Professor Orinsworth has made alterations to the traditional way of things." Wamble said this as a dry observation that made it unclear how he felt about the subject. Scorpius wondered if the source of Samantha's anxious behavior was the same as his when he realised he was digging his fingers through the back of his hair again. He quickly withdrew them in hopes no one would notice the similarity between him and a girl whom he did not want to be associated with. It worked in one manner, but failed in another. The Hufflepuff headstudent's attention was drawn by the sudden motion. "Was my response not to your satisfaction, Mister Malfoy?"

Scorpius always did poorly under pressure. His lies were easy to detect, and while he hoped to not have to, sometimes it was best to not say what was on his mind. "Like Alchemy, instead of Potions?"

Wamble shrugged at the inquiry. "As I understand that was Tomlinson's decision and either way, predates my time, young sir. Which just goes to demonstrate that without historical context, how would you be aware that change occurred? And, how would those with knowledge of history know of such changes, without observing the present? And who among either knows how those changes will develop?" The older boy stood, set his invisible electric barriers to each side, and addressed the Hufflepuff table, "Fledgling firsters, _Seen-ore_ Ixchel, Professor Stalvan awaits to disgorge the mysteries of transfiguration for your consumption." The description was distasteful to Scorpius. The rest of the students found it entertaining, though.

The Hufflepuffs' behavior in no way distinguished them from the Gryffindors of the previous day. They chatted and teased as they walked the stairs and halls to the second floor. Some seemed to already know each other. Most still looked about like tourists on holiday, especially the Central American boy, Pablo. Apparently he was in his third year, but unlike Andre, was not too familiar with the Hogwarts curriculum. That stuck in Scorpius' mind a moment. Andre had acted as if he did not know that much about Hogwarts instruction on the train, yet Wamble portrayed him as weary of going through first year classes already.

The Headstudent himself was a point of consternation, also. He was not what Scorpius had envisioned of a Hufflepuff. Was the analysis of the other houses just as misguided, or was the boy an anomaly? Could this tour of the houses revive his plan? It was too early to know. It was too late in so many ways.

They reached a class on the third floor. With one eyebrow raised, the headstudent spoke in a hollow voice, "I shall return ... for the survivors."

Inside, the classroom consisted of three rows of four wooden tables each. The professor stood with his back to them. He wrote along the top of a blackboard in a rolling, rotating frame. Stalvan spoke without turning, "Take a seat," He finished writing: "Transfiguration - 1st year - Hufflepuff". He faced the students, half of them seated, half evaluating what seats were left. "This is not a social event. Sit. Now!" Scorpius was certain the malice in the man's voice was not directed at him. Not due to his Slytherin legacy, but because he and Al had already taken their seats in the first row. Both turned to see who hadn't. At the opposite corner, Pablo sat cross-legged in his chair, a rather peculiar pose. Beside him, Samantha was also already seated, her book and folder in front of her. She looked anxious. The last of the Hufflepuffs found his seat. Professor Stalvan was clearly displeased, "I suggest you divest yourselves of social consideration, or, in the future, arrive earlier." As likely intended, this made the young students shift uncomfortably in their seats. "This is Transfiguration," his wand made a loud snap against the slate, "in case any of you are lost, or illiterate. You!" He threw a chalk. It struck the desk's surface before the boy nearest the door. "What is Transfiguration?"

The boy recovered from his panicked ducking. He was wide faced, his chin fell to speak, but he stumbled on his words, "It's err, I, the err, application of magicks, magical energy to alter..."

"No!" The professor held another piece of chalk at the ready (Or was that the same one? He hadn't grabbed another!) and aimed for a girl whispering to the student beside her, "You, his stammering amuses you? What's your answer?"

The girl turned from her friend to face the professor fully and flicked her ponytail back over her shoulder. She took a breath and spoke confidently, "Transfiguration is the art of changing the form and appearance of an object and the vanishing of objects."

"Thank you, I've read the book. Yet you have no idea what you said _means!"_ He pointed his wand and her book slammed shut. The girl's expression faded with a slight start. "I do not need to be taught the importance, the methods, or theories of my own instruction. What I do need to know is how much of these things YOU know. Mister Wallace has learned, perhaps, that he needs to keep his mind in this class rather than anticipating the next. Miss Aston has learned to read and recite others' words." He pointed his wand at the two students in turn, then threatened a third, "Mister Talbot, are you eleven years of age?"

The dark-haired boy's face went pale, "Yes, sir."

"And you can hear and speak, impressive. What is your wizarding background?" The teacher struggled with his (im)patience.

"Wizarding? I, not ... none, sir."

The change in Professor Stalvan was immediate, and stark. He relaxed and smiled. "Well, as much as I would prefer students to read texts before class, I don't imagine many of your books made much sense to you. Do you have a guess as to the meaning of the class title?" He propped the palm of his left hand on his wand, further relaxing his posture and expression.

The effort only marginally transferred to the student, "Um, from what I, it's uh, changing things ... into other things."

Stalvan pushed his lower lip out, what would be a pout on a child's face, but his grizzled appearance made it threatening. "Changing things into other things." He turned and printed the words on the board. "Ten points, Mister Talbot." He turned back to face the class. "You've likely helped half your classmates better understand what their parents passed on in the thick and confusing language of our over-aged texts." Scorpius hoped the intimidating manner of the Slytherin househead was an assumed personage, a practice similar to the Malfoy household. "Though many would believe a professor's primary duty is to instruct, to teach, to tell you 'things', that cannot be done unless I first understand _you_ , the students, and what **you** know. It would be foolish of me to assume so, even if I have just told you." He pointed at Pablo, "Exchange property wood silver sliver dental to point sew primary instruction for thought unproven." The dark boy smiled, the professor's face remained grim, "Repeat back to the class what I have just told you."

Scorpius noticed Samantha look down and give the barest of smiles before Pablo responded, "Our first lesson will be on the theory of changing a toothpick to a needle of silver." He was a bit confused, a bit expectant.

"Indeed. The process, how we will do this, as Mister Wallace suggested, will be to use magic. The problem being to know what our 'thing' starts as." He brought his wand down in a swift strike, alarming the girls seated in the center front table (to Scorpius' left). A store-bought carton of toothpick boxes slammed down before the wand from a side cabinet. "They start as thin bits of wood." The plastic packaging easily torn, he tossed the boxes without a glance, yet just one box landed at the center of each table. "Our next issue, is knowing what 'other thing' we want our first 'thing' to become."

The class continued with Professor Stalvan directing questions to students as to what wood was, in their words. Then what silver was, and the similarities and the differences with silver. He never fully relaxed. He was not Professor Thomas. But, he certainly held their attention and made certain both he and the class understood each other. Honest errors were allowed, but a correct answer without knowledge of what it truly meant earned a harsh challenge. All their answers were summarized on the board as they went. When it was full, Professor Stalvan flipped it over to the blank side. "Mister Malfoy, what is the greatest challenge of this endeavor?"

 _Do not answer from the book!_ "Changing the wood to silver, well, how to use magic to change the wood to silver." The professor turned and titled the board 'Wood to Silver'.

Still in his neutral mood, what might be considered friendly given his previous attitude, Stalvan pointed to the back of the class, "Miss Witherspoon, why all this ... _theory?_ Why don't you just start? We know wood floats, silver sinks, wood burns, silver melts ..."

Samantha sighed in resignation before she replied, "Wood is a complex repeating pattern of- it's a bunch of molecu- uh, stuff, made of various atoms- I mean, smaller, different ... stuff. AND silver is homogene- ... all the same element, well, same ... stuff." Scorpius was curious about the concepts she kept cutting off. The professor did not seem upset or impressed. "We have to get the idea, of changing two dissim- stuff that isn't the same. I mean ... wood is organic ... like a person: muscle and bone and organs, while silver is like a ... something that's pure," she looked about as if to find the answer physically and her eyes met with Scorpius', "like water."

Stalvan's response broke the brief stare, "You mean created water, of course?"

Her answer was distracted, "Yeah- no! You can't create ..."

"Distilled then, Miss Witherspoon, both muggles and magi have processes for distilling pure water. I wouldn't want anyone thinking common sources of water were truly pure, but we won't confuse the issue with that discussion, shall we? I liked the answer you thought of, but the one you spoke will earn you ten points."

She had talked about learning non-magical lessons at her school. Scorpius' mother had insisted he attend such schools as well, but he had barely learned anything about molecules or elements and never thought such lessons would actually apply to magic.

"At this point you have all had Charms, and have learned-" Stalvan wrote out the words as he spoke them, "Invocation, Motivation," he glanced over his shoulder, "Potter, give me a five galleon word for waving your wand about."

Al smirked and shrugged to Scorpius who offered nothing but a confused headshake of his own. Albus almost laughed the word, "What-we're-gonna-do-ation?" The class in turn chuckled their approval.

In what appeared to be acknowledgment, "Right, _gesticulation._ You owe me ninety sickles, Potter." Most of the students laughed at the total five sickles higher than five galleons, the magical community's largest currency. "However, these words don't mean a thing to a warren of first years." He crossed out the long terms with a sweeping flash from his wand and the dust of them flew off the board. He pointed to students in turn, calling them off by last name for new responses which he wrote and then ceremoniously repeated, "Say, think, move. That you are here at all is proof you have the last and that you answered, possibly the first of the three 'things' we need, but can you _think?"_ Again, he pointed his wand into the podium and held it upright against the palm of his hand.

Scorpius considered the professor's wand. What he felt was not a desire, but more like a compulsion, "Professor Stalvan?"

The instructor crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to examine his student, "Mister Malfoy?"

Scorpius, amongst several others were momentarily distracted as the professor's ivory-bodied wand stood on its own when Stalvan withdrew his hand. "I ... Miss- Miss Witherspoon does not have a wand."

The class followed the instructor's gaze, save Al and a few others who still watched for the wand to drop. Samantha sank slightly in her seat and frowned halfway, but no protest. Though a reaction from her would have been expected, it was Pablo who spoke. "The time is for me to unseat myself, master?"

The professor bent down behind the podium, he replied absently at first, "Yes, now would ..." He smacked his wand to lay flat with his right hand as he stood nearly upright, he seemed to lift something heavy out of view with his left hand. He eyed the Guatemalan boy with suspicion, "Have you charted my class?"

Pablo stood and pushed in his chair. Samantha faced him, but seemed as lost as everyone else. He responded with an air of innocence, "The month and the year, sir master." He bent in and put his hand on the girl's shoulder, "It all occurs well, do not preoccupy yourself ." It only served to increase her confusion.

Professor Stalvan interrupted everyone's thoughts with his malicious tone, "What does _she_ have to worry about, except my exposing her as ill-prepared and incapable, and that buffoon Twin Bears shown for the senile fraud he is." It was an abrupt return to his hostile demeanor. Scorpius didn't know what, or it seemed _whom,_ a Twin Bears was, but he turned swiftly to see Samantha's reaction. By her bared teeth and narrowed glare, he knew she disagreed, bitterly.

Something large and tan flew at her. It cut through the air, and made the distinctive thunk and hum of wood striking stone. Samantha was changed to the obsidian form she had taken on the boat launch. She had caught the board, about a meter long, at its center. Her crushing grip nearly broke it in two.

The professor spoke loudly, drawing absolutely none of the rest of the class's attention away from the molten American (Did Scorpius turn back because he'd already seen this display of Witherspoon's abilities, or out of deference to the professosr?). Stalvan's manner had reverted to his neutral mode, save the volume, "Actually, I found his text 'Element-ary' to be quite an engaging discourse on how to adapt American Elementalism to European Wizarding, almost as eloquent as his recommendation of you as a pupil."

By the time Scorpius orientated back on Samantha, she was her normal self. She was confused, though, "Then why did you ... recommendation?" The plank was too heavy for her normal state. It collapsed on the table with a thud. Pablo pulled out his chair, smiled to Samantha, and took his seat beside her. She chuckled softly, "Occurs well, huhn?"

Pablo responded, "It will, yes."

The transfiguration professor, unperturbed by his own outburst or the American students' exchange, wrote on the board. "Four parts earth," he spaced out four squares, "chained with air, water, fire, water." He drew a point down triangle, a circle, an upright triangle and another circle in the spaces beside the squares. "Evaporate consolidation, and orient for metal crystal alignment." He crossed out the symbols for water and air, stood about and to the side to allow Samantha a full view of the blackboard.

She, like the professor, adopted a calmer manner. "You ... you insulted me ... and Twin Bears just to make sure I was ready?" Most of the class clutched their seats or desks, not as quick to relax, not quite certain the professor didn't have a board with their name on it behind the podium. Albus was excited by the whole exchange, while Pablo was happy and undisturbed. Scorpius' curiosity started to win out over his tension.

The professor nodded, "I had it set to fly a fixed distance, as well, safety and such. For now though, the plank before you," He struck his wand beneath the string of shapes.

Her face was uncertain, "But, cellulose is only four earth, and most metals have six..."

"It's not a single molecule, though, is it?" The class, even Scorpius, didn't understand.

Samantha struggled to lift the square-sided board. While she had held it aloft effortlessly in her volcanic glass form, it was now a struggle. Pablo helped her by lifting one end, then the two bent and twisted the wood at the break and it fell in two. Still with some effort, Samantha held a fractured half in both hands, outstretched before her. She took a quick breath, her face was grim with concentration. Scorpius wondered if anyone else noticed as her eyes went completely black. There was a collective gasp as the wood creaked and hissed, darkened and withered.

Scorpius caught a few of the whispers, "No wand ..."

"She didn't say anything."

Steam rose from the newly shrunken, square-cornered rod. She looked disappointed, "It's ... it's iron, though, I think." She set it down with a subdued clank.

The professor responded quizzically, "What good would it be to tell you silver right off?" He marked out "say" and "move", and circled "think" several times. He addressed the class as he had that first night they had arrived, with imperative and force, "A young man, eighteen years old, without any supplies or preparation, deprived of his wand, no physical training nor conditioning, walked one hundred kilometers across Scotland in two days. His only thought, as he put it, was to reach his home. You shall find in your seven years here, or you shall not have been worth the effort, that **thought - intent - drive** , do more to shape magic than anything else!" Then, in a gracious tone, "Thank Mister Malfoy for his gallantry, Miss Witherspoon, you may keep that for a wand if you ever find yourself in need of one."

Scorpius was duly embarrassed, and found it difficult to look to Samantha for her reaction, but impossible not to. She smiled at him briefly, then turned back to the professor, "Sir, what did Twin Bears say?"

Stalvan stood to his full height, in a pose and tone proper for a eulogy, "Were she of my age, we would have run the path instep, taken many lives, and shared in the hearts of our foes."

She smiled broadly and made a little hop, as if no higher praise were possible, "Epic!" She drew the iron rod close to her like a trophy and sat back in her chair. Where she was pleased at this exchange, the Hufflepuffs, save Pablo, were taken aback at this girl's power and her excitement at the suggestion of killing and eating another person's organs.

"Henceforth," the professor mellowed once again, "we shall focus on traditional European methods." He flipped the blackboard again. Scorpius expected it to be the same as before, or perhaps magically blank. Instead, it had all the words from both sides, better organized, smaller, and somehow even more legible.

Though Terrance Wamble was headstudent of Hufflepuff, he did not fit the meek and humble stereotype of his fellow students. Professor Stalvan was the Slytherin househead, but did not seem to meet up to the reputation of that villainous house. Scorpius took notes, but could not stop thinking that his plan had been based on incomplete, and even wholly inaccurate information.


	4. Chapter 16-20

Chapter 16: Getting Defensive

Albus

 _Had Professor Snape been anything like Stalvan?_ There were only the two Slytherin professors Al had met (besides the painting of Phineaus Black in his room, _der!_ ) And while Emmerlinse certainly did scare everyone ... well, he worked to do it. Stalvan didn't try. He didn't even mean to, Al guessed. Not knowing much about Severus Snape though, Al couldn't be certain if these instructors had ever even met him.

Samantha seemed really improved since yesterday. She got to show off what she could do and hadn't even needed a wand. Al got the idea that the rest of the class was just as impressed at first. Then they seemed kind of put off. Maybe by someone showing off ( _Hey, it_ _ **was**_ _brilliant_ ) or being happy at the idea of eating hearts (it sounded to Al like the Twinsbear guy's comment had been a joke). Pablo smiled along, and even Scorpius was ... not disappointed? It was probably best to just let the week happen. Every time Al tried to steer things the way he wanted, someone ended up upset and it didn't turn out how he had hoped and he ended up in trouble (a certain book came to mind).

As in Alchemy, the class didn't really get to DO anything in Transfiguration. When Albus chanced a look at Scorpius' parchment, he wondered how Malfoy could listen and write when there so much being said. Al barely had anything down, the most important parts being "what do we know" (the question mark scribbled out) and "say think move". Meanwhile, Scorpius had copied the shape chart (equation?) that Al was pretty sure was meant just for Sam.

Professor Stalvan acted satisfied with the class. As the bell signalled he assured them they _might_ make their toothpicks shiny in their next session. The Hufflepuff headstudent leaned against the wall outside. He collapsed a light projection of the stars and stretched. "Ah, I'm rather certain the headmaster has only eighteen seats. High survival rate _here_ will only hinder us _there._ " Wamble had that straight-faced delivery that the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, often used. Being head of the entire Ministry made it even more difficult for people when he was joking. Maybe Terrance knew Mr Shacklebolt, too.

After they took the stairs down from the castle entryway, most of the students started down a hall to the left. Al nearly corrected himself, before he realized he actually KNEW the way. Their guide stood a few steps down the correct hall. "Ahem, Hufflepuffs, Let's not trot off to our cots yet." Many of the first years rolled their eyes and giggled at their mistake.

"You did it, too."

"I was just following you!"

Terry grimaced, "Yes, yes, the mutual blame game may continue apace at eleven." They passed the Alchemy stairs, wound through a series of back and forth turns (James was convinced Slytherin had their secret entrance at the center of this "horseshoe"). A pair of iron-bound doors groaned on their hinges. They were large, as thick as the wall and just barely missing the floor and ceiling as they opened from within.

The headmaster sounded offended as he pushed open the doors, "A truce? Did you think to float this idea pass your instructor first?" He lifted his chin and crossed his arms as he ran his fingers along his throat. "Hmm, who would your D-ya professor be, handsome chap, bad temper."

Albus wasn't sure how much of this was playful, how much was serious. Judging from Wamble's reaction, mainly playful, "NEARLY bald, not quite."

"Yeah, not quite. So ..."

Terrance lost his tongue-in-cheek humor along with his confidence, "Hufflepuff first year students and guests as scheduled, we should discuss these two troublesome seventh years of yours when they're both available, sir."

Orinsworth scanned over the young students. "Go, get in, other class already gone out the other side, haven't they?" Al wanted to laugh. It was too much like an exchange between his uncles George and Ron. Even if Ron was the one that really kept Wizarding Wheezes running, George could always get his brother spun up as if whatever had happened was Ron's fault.

The students went inside, but stopped short. "All right, all right. Take your seats." There were, however, no seats. The only furniture was a broad desk and large leather chair by the entrance doors, a rotating chalk board on rollers, like Stalvan's, beside it. The only things resembling student desks were the metal poles and boards piled at the far end of the class, some twenty-plus meters off. The room was the same width as the Great hall, about half the length and a good deal shorter, maybe only two stories tall, but still very large for being underground. The Potter and Weasley children had once played "half-pitch" Quidditch indoors here when they visited Hogwarts and it was raining. Having no goal keeper made for a very high-scoring game. "Oh, looks like those Gryffindor Lions took your seats. No matter. Line up, two rows." The students stumbled about, quite like the Gryffindors had for clean-up hour the day before. "Do I look like a walking dead? Not all facing me, face each other, pair off." Al smiled when he turned and saw he had stood in front of Scorpius. Scorpius seemed to feel the same way, but quickly recovered his serious expression. Albus frowned and stuck out his tongue. It worked, Scorpius chuckled. Headmaster Orinsworth made his way down the center of the lineup. "Right, you two lovebirds together, but cut it out for now." Everyone snickered. Malfoy seemed especially embarrassed. Al rolled his eyes. "Right, good, yeah. No, you two, don't want Muggle-raised 'gainst a kid whose da' is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement." Heather Merriweather moved, then giggled and apologized in the same breath. The professor beckoned another student over, but turned to the crestfallen muggle-born girl, "Hey, I was Muggle-raised, too, look where it landed me." She went wide-eyed and cheered up greatly. The professor continued down the line, "Mister Potter, as I understand it your father was Muggle-raised, ain't that right?"

Al was still making funny faces at Scorpius when he figured out the other boy had not developed a neck spasm but was instead trying to direct Al's attention. "Huhn?"

Scorpius hissed, "Yes, the Dursleys."

Albus went along with it. "Yeah, the Dursleys, but they don't do any magic." Professor Orinsworth looked suspicious. All the other students laughed, especially those near Al and Scorpius.

"Right. Chief Auror not exactly a gimme post, is it?" Al was rather certain the professor knew he hadn't been paying attention. "Wait, where's Masseur Sebastien?"

Pablo answered cheerily, "His contentment left him for primary instruction. He goes to wait on fifth year in the late."

"All right then, you across from Witherspoon," The headmaster turned and saw Samantha with her eyebrow raised. She was already across from Pablo. The professor walked back to the board beside his desk and left half the class twisting their necks about to see him. "Right, NOW, front row, take one step to your right, so the second row isn't staring at ya ... or makin' faces, then turn about." Al had already ceased in his attempts at cracking Scorpius, and resigned himself to the apparent situation: professors acted a lot differently in class than in real life. "Take your seats." Al thought momentarily that Orinsworth and Thomas were perhaps both the exceptions to the professional professor behavior, when he saw it wasn't a joke this time. There was now an old-fashioned seat with attached desktop next to him, one beside everyone, as if he'd used the pile ... that was gone. Albus wasn't the only one confused. If the headmaster did have his wand in hand, and had not before ... or had he?

The professor began before the class could settle in. "You'll most likely hear this class referred to as Dee-Ay, dada, or just plain defence. However, the proper title of this course of instruction is 'Defence Against the Dark Arts'." The headmaster sat, examined a parchment and held his wand flat in his palm. "Miss Aaron," It swivelled and pointed at the muggle-born girl from earlier. "What are you expecting to learn here?"

She was predictably nervous, "Um, in my words, or from the book, sir?"

Orinsworth flicked his hand around his wand to a casting grasp and shot a white spark at the girl. On the edge of the desk appeared a placard with her name (Jennifer Aaron). "Just had Professor Stalvan, right, either way. We don't make it very easy on ya by bein' different from each other, do we? Whatever you think, miss."

"Well, it's, we have to be, know how to, well, be ready to defend against ... bad magic?" She took a moment to flip the card placed on her desk and relaxed visibly at reading her own name.

"But maybe I wasn't just helping my memory now, and that coulda been somethin' dangerous. Our first issue is gonna be recognising threats against us." A very notable difference was the headmaster did not write on his own board; A feather-winged, chalk quill popped up and did that for him: 1. Recognise threats. Like Transfiguration, no one volunteered to answer faster than the professor could call off a name. The pattern was obviously alphabetical, followed by a placard cast onto the desk, but then Merriweather was called on before Malfoy. Indeed, the rest of the first years were all called on before Scorpius or Al or Sam.

"Very good, Mister Wallace. We need to recognise threats. Assess them quickly, accurately, react accordingly. In line with that, we need to prepare ourselves, and our surroundings. Be aware of changes. And, as you added, stay aware even when you think it's over." Al swore he had heard this in many variations, from many people, on many occasions. Then again, get-togethers at the house often included a few current or former Aurors (and they _always_ talked about work). "Señor Ixchel, what's our biggest issue in, well, in these, for what are the most part, simple preparations? What holds us back from being ready, even when we know we should be?"

Pablo's smile dropped, "There is other word, but ... hope. The hope for bad scenarios not to occur."

Orinsworth was enthused, "Outstanding. Ten, no, twenty points easy, to Hufflepuff. I can't even get my fifth years to realise that. People don't want bad things to happen, it's 'complacency' by the way. The idea that it's not real, that it's not gonna happen to me. They don't think about it, and by the time they do, it's too late. So, let's tally off some very real threats we might face, ever. Let's try to name the worst. Sebastien ... let's say his answer's 'giants', shall we?" Several of the Hufflepuffs sniggered. "Just call out, what do we face with giants?" The chalk quill didn't write out an answer unless Orinsworth nodded. After several clarifications and corrections, the professor tallied off the results, "So, giants are physically very large, very strong. Resistant to all kinds of magic. Aggressive, but pretty thick in the head. You can't reason with 'em if they're already angry, but you could trick 'em. And technically, they're extinct in England. The major counter against them would be using your magic on something else, and using _that_ against the giant. I wouldn't recommend bonking one on the head with his own club, though I hear it works well enough on trolls." About half the class laughed, even Scorpius. Al assumed this was about a Biddle Bard tale he'd missed. "Mister Malfoy, what would you say about magical threats? What's hiding in your boggart closet?"

Al doubted anyone actually kept a boggart in their closet on purpose, though he had heard the expression. Who would keep something in their house that assumed the appearance of their worst fear? Scorpius almost grinned with his response, "A dragon."

The headmaster gave a halfhearted approval with a shrug and a turned out lower lip, "All right, class, dragons." The shouts of the dangers posed by dragons came a bit quicker (and higher pitched). Girls seemed more interested in fire-breathing lizards than huge people. Corrections were made to the muggle-raised that thought dragons could speak, or dined solely on maiden sacrifices (or, as Al thought, that they were related to lizards). "It isn't so much outright resistant-like to magic, it's a threshold resistance, don't need to write that down. You need a lot of people casting the spell, or a special type of spell or magic to affect them. Most can fly. Different kinds have different breaths, though most tend towards fire, gases being second most common. And again, physically, often large and strong. Armored scales make physical attacks even more difficult. Claws and fangs, means they don't use weapons you could take from 'em. It's a tough call to say they think more or less than giants, though I tend towards more. A bit more instinctual, maybe, which is to say, they are a lil' more predictable if you've studied the type. But still, we've got people dedicated to saving dragons since there's fewer and fewer left every decade; some species are already gone. Mister Potter, c'mon, most dangerous creature you can think of." The order finally made sense: he called off the Hufflepuff's first years, then their exchanges, then the delays.

Al was pretty certain Scorpius had hit the answer. Charlie and his crew had a lot stuff to wear and do before they captured a dragon. The disappointment on Malfoy's face said he had thought as much, as well. Or did it? Scorpius nodded and perhaps figured out the right answer. The headmaster cleared his throat. Too much attention to get a whispered clue, Al said the only thing that dangerous brought to mind, "A lungwang?" His puzzled answer caused a mirrored response from the professor.

"What? One of the _lungwang_ ...? Hagrid has - oh!" Orinsworth worked it out and calmed. "You three were in Creatures with Ravenclaw, and therefore Miss Haung. _Yes_ , one of the dragon kings would have all the challenges of a typical, if you would dare call them that, dragon, in addition to being able to cast its own array of spells, and there's no question that it truly thinks. However," The quill had scribbled two Chinese symbols, but wavered in expectation, "even if the Chinese government is to be believed only two, of the four or five, are still alive. Even Britain's equivalent, the Jutewyrm or white dragon, was killed centuries ago. I'm a little disappointed, Potter. All right, America. What say you is the most dangerous monster we'll ever face?"

Samantha appeared depressed as most of the class turned to look at her. She almost said something, stopped, then barely audible, "Man." She didn't look up from her desk. Albus wondered if this was what the professor _had_ been looking for, and had Scorpius figured it out, too? Yet Sam still looked worried.

"Man," The professor was suddenly grim and became quick-tongued and more articulate as the winged chalk scribbled furiously to keep up with him. It managed only the most important ideas, "Varying degrees of intelligence: extensive use of complex tools, magic and technological, including a vast array of weapons. Expansionist: dominates all but the most treacherous terrains on Earth. Adaptive: alters environment to suit its needs, technology has allowed man to overcome Earth's gravity and explore space, magic has made possible the escape from Hell. Fragile body, yet only creature known to extend its own life via medicine and alchemy, and has even survived its own death." He paused to watch the class as they wrote, Al gave up keeping up with even the quill. "Known to hunt: all species of creatures, magical or mundane, whether to survive via feeding, in self-defence or from perception of threat, for sport or for comfort." Sport and comfort were emphatically underlined by the quill. "Has caused extinctions actively and negligently. Has killed all types of sentient life, demi-human or otherwise, including other humans. Only species that has adapted to alter itself to point of becoming another creature, such as lycanthropy, most commonly werewolves, or undeath, most commonly vampires, or animagi, most commonly canines and felines." Even as some caught up with the rapid dictation, no one said anything. "Most common predator: other humans." Most of the students were anxious at the pace and tone, some assumed the same sorrowed look as Sam. Albus couldn't tell if the professor was done or not as he stared back and forth among the students. "Don't get too caught up in this, but don't brush it off either. You're gonna learn how to get pixies out of curtains, gnomes out yer garden. How to confuse boggarts, stave off a vampire, treat yer wounds so you don't turn into a werewolf if you're bit. Even how to work as a team to take down giants and dragons. But never forget, worst threat out there walks and talks, eats and sleeps just like you an' me."

Heather Merriweather cried out as if she had just seen a monster jump from the blackboard, "Like Voldemort?"

Professor Orinsworth responded with disbelief, "Voldemort? Tom Riddle? Even if eyewitness accounts are to be believed, Riddle accounted for only one death at the Battle of Hogwarts. Prior to that, few of his murders can be confirmed, though there were many more by his followers. And that ... followers, that was the truly scary part about the self-appointed Dark Lord: his ability to organise. We are lucky that his vision of a pureblood dominated society kept him from conspiring with men not capable of magicks, aren't we? Another would-be tyrant, also bent on wizard rule, was not so picky, and caused the deaths of millions."

Al was certain he had never heard of anyone, much less a wizard, who had killed _millions_. It was hard to accept that Voldemort, or Riddle (his _actual_ name) had killed people just to put wizards in charge. From what his father had explained, Tom Riddle was the nearly featureless man from the book covers. He had been real. And Al's father, with the help of his friends (several now family), had stopped him. Al wanted to leave, to get out of that room, get away from everyone. Merriweather had to know, her father was Mr Potter's boss. The other wizard kids would know, too, and then they could have told the muggle-raised. It seemed like everyone knew. It would have been easier to face with Dad there, but Albus got jittery when he couldn't beat a video game boss. Everyone was going to be massively disappointed in their hero's son. Al cast about for the quickest way out and saw the Hufflepuffs clutching their quills, at once ready and afraid to write the next terrifying note on the evils of other humans. Samantha held her head tight in her arms and grasped her pigtails as she buried her chin into her chest.

The headmaster must have seen it, too, "Miss Witherspoon? Sam!"

Her head bolted up, tears trailed down her cheeks, "What? Grindenwald, Hitler, twelve million, but not really, they never ... the sacrifices, they uh ... they ..." She stopped, for some reason confused.

Professor Orinsworth was calm again, "It's all right. Everyone, sorry I ... I might get carried away with this. Maybe I got the order wrong. Yeah, Grindenwald made a pact, along with his muggle conspirator, but, they never quite managed it. There is some hope in this, though, something ... _redeeming_ in all this. While Hitler's forces were stopped by the combined efforts of British, American, and Soviet Armies, a grand achievement in its own right, you know who stopped Grindenwald?"

Al nearly fell out of his seat. The professor pointed at him. Well, kind of at him, and at the same time Scorpius said his name. "Albus Dumbledore." Kind of his name. Scorpius managed a look at Al, like a wince and grin at the same time.

"Right. Challenging him to a duel of single combat. Same man who was headmaster here to myself, the elder Mister Potter, most of your parents, the ministry, and our staff at Hogwarts. One man stopped this most notorious villain in history. Point is ..." the professor raised his eyebrows, tried to reassure, "as bad as any man or woman can be, another can be as equally good. Professor Dumbledore didn't even give in to revenge when he had Grindenwald at his mercy, but instead disarmed him, and allowed the law to decide his fate." He tapped his wand to "Man" at the top of the board.

The Defence teacher was still talking, telling them something, but all Al could think was that his father, the boy who had stopped some inhuman murderer, was already some kind of hero, the subject of an entire wall of books. Then _he_ had named his son after a man who was even more of a legend, who stopped what seemed to be the worst killer of all time. The name Severus had never held more promise for him. Hopefully, that man hadn't done anything so impossibly heroic.

Al fell on the floor. His desk was gone. The background rushed back to clarity, "Mister Potter, you not hear the bell for class?" The headmaster carefully placed his wand in his sleeve. Scorpius stood beside Al, the rest of the students were already exitting on the far side.

Then, the screaming started.

Sam

 _STOP! STOP! STOP! Control. Focus. A single point in the woods. A point becomes a path. The path leads to the prey. Follow the prey and ... STOP! Wrong exercise! Stop the fear, stop the grief, stop the pain! Stop TRYING to stop and just STOP!_

Sam held on tight. As if her arms and the desk could slow the waves of fear and anxiety that pounded at her. If the headmaster would stop talking about it, they could stop thinking about it. If they would stop thinking about it, she could stop feeling it. _Mother, make them stop!_

Did she say something? Someone said her name, asked her something. Sam answered. It wasn't a question. What had she said?

She had no idea how she stood, or grabbed her pack. The pills were in the pack. They could have stopped this. They could cut off the fear, so primal and strong. They would make the world look like gauze had been stretched over her eyes, make her feel like the air was foam as she sloughed through it, worked to swallow it. They could stop all the noise. They would take too long. She hated the pills. They were a choice now, but not really; being forced to take them before, she never wanted to take them again.

They were all in the hall. Their thoughts started to diverge, go off in separate paths. It was a relief. Then they started to overlap, strengthen, and focus again, on her. They looked at her as she plodded among them. The worst of it started: images twisted in her mind. She had a metal spear in her hand. Her body was black, fire sparked from her eyes and mouth. She had fangs and claws, wiry hair, sharp horns and spines. She held something, eating it ... as it dripped blood. All of it overlapped with reality, none of it was real.

Already weak, she couldn't fight it back. "You're afraid?" she shrieked before her skin tightened and hardened, as her blood became molten, her bones and muscles fused into stone. Already, her vision had changed: they looked like x-ray pictures with grayed outlines. She heard their faint screams, but she didn't feel them anymore. Inside her, magma rose and fell to magically force air through cracked rock to create a voice, "I'll show you something to be afraid of!"

White haze balled around her. A stream stretched off of it back to a larger skeletal form. Then something else pushed through the others. It was safe. She was safe. It all went black.

The Headmaster

The situation was in hand as Orinsworth jogged up. Wamble dismissed the shield spell around Witherspoon as he barked, "Hufflepuffs, move! First floor! If you can't find Muggle Studies I'll put you to the kitchens for a year." The American woman was over the girl, the girl herself sprawled out over her backpack.

Potter was just behind the headmaster, Malfoy lingered across the hall. Orinsworth was not going to have any audience that was not absolutely needed, nor risk any harm to his students. "You heard him!" Perhaps the hat had linked these three, but it wasn't about to say why or how. Regina may have been right in suggesting getting rid of the thing, but the board of governors, backed by Dean's reassurance, would not allow it. _Beware inanimate objects that think for themselves!_

Terrance took the responsible, expected action, "Sir, I'll see her up to-"

Skein cut off the offer, "You'll do nothing of the sort! On your way." Her tone was harsh, while her action was uncertain. She hesitated to lift Witherpoon, yet the girl could barely weigh four stone, if that. But the weight wasn't the issue, it was more like someone who never handled a child before: clumsy yet cautious. Her words, however, were filled with venom, "You'll reassure Mister Creevey I can shut her down in an instant, Headmaster?"

Terry did not move to leave. He had the proper priorities, judgment, and loyalty. The recommendation for Auror selection sat ready in Gordon's desk. So, while the woman was right, he would have to tell the young man himself, "Fourth year Gryffindor is waiting on you, Mister Wamble. Go." Orinsworth gestured over his shoulder.

However wary, the young man proceeded at the headmaster's word. "And Advanced Transfiguration?"

"You'll make the second session on Thursday or you're not worth the title of headstudent. C'mon, miss, floo chute 'er back 'ere." The wand came free of its wrist sheath and into the headmaster's hand as he extended his arm. _"Incendio!"_ The fireplace, halfway along the oversized classroom's wall, burst into flames. As he reached the mantle, Orinsworth grabbed a pinch of the dust and flicked it out. "Hospital," he stepped into the flame. The green flash swirled him through the familiar scenes of the school.

Katie (Healer Bell) had a tray of urns and jars before her as the swoosh and light signalled an entrance by the fireplace. "Gordon, what's happened?" She examined one of two parchments taped on the mat over her antique desk. "Hufflepuff first or Gryffindor fourth?" A second entry arrived behind him. He had not thought to tell the woman how to use the floo network. American gating was much more controlled, the British method simpler. "Oh! Gordon, you stunned out a little girl?" The question itself sounded comical, but the healer was quite serious, always serious when it came to the students.

He had trouble shaking the worry that he could have prevented this. "I didn't, and I don't think 'stunned' is quite right."

Miss Skein did not seem to suffer any further guilt or concern, "Elemental transformations are intense to initiate. I cut her flow of magic. The sudden loss made her pass out." She laid the child on the nearest gurney. It would have been a completely mechanical effort if she hadn't paused to gently adjust Samantha's jacket collar.

 _Collar? Is that how they manage her appearance?_

Katie circled the bed and allowed Skein to stay near Witherspoon. The American raised an eyebrow at the other woman's detour. The healer cast a triage spell, _"Enyo dynosta."_ The spheres flitted about the patient as the healer observed the changes. "Merlin's wand ... you said you ... cut her off?"

"Yes."

"How long is it supposed to take her to recover from ... this?" Katie held something back.

"I couldn't say. This has only happened once before that I was present. I kept her under until medical attention arrived then." Miss Skein's expression was a blank slate. She could have been suppressing state secrets, or divulging her every thought, it was impossible to tell. "I have to contact the agent in charge about this. Do phones only work outside?" She held hers up, the panel red.

Gordon offered, "Try the terrace of my office. It's- I'll show ya."

Katie interrupted, "I think we need to speak, headmaster." It was an order disguised as a request.

Cautiously, Gordon corrected himself, "I think you'll have to settle with the trip downstairs for now."

Skein pivoted and strode off. The tap of her heels faded to echoes down the stone halls. No one moved.

Bell started cold, "What did you _do_ , Gordon?"

"I got Wamble covering for me, Katie, he's s'pposed to ambush 'em. I'm not sure he knows the class is on surprise encounters." Her stare wormed into him. He sat on her desk. "I didn't ..."

She approached, stopped a foot from him, "You gave that speech again, didn't you?"

"I gave _a_ speech, not that -"

She cut him off, "You gave the Grindenwald speech!"

Exasperated, he stood and threw out his arms, but she didn't flinch, "One of 'em mentioned Voldemort. It got away from me. I didn't list out the who or how they died. I put in the part about Dumbledore, _your_ suggestion. I didn't even mention the doctor."

The healer went back to her patient. She traced hovering lines over Samantha. They sank down as the healer spoke, "You need to find a replacement." The comment hung unchallenged. "Doctor Sun is in Hogsmeade. He might be available."

The headmaster spun on his foot in shock, "A muggle headmaster?! Seriously, Katie?"

Her eyes shut as she held her hand to her brow, strained at her own error, "Not as your replacement, I meant ... to talk to."

"You really think I need to talk to a shrink about this?" He approached her faster than he had meant, closer than he meant. She didn't recoil, she knew him, his moods, and trusted him.

Out of her usual workplace behavior she turned in, hugged him, and held close. "I meant for her ... but if you would ..." She kissed him before she drew back, "It would mean a lot to me."

The show of affection eased Gordon's tension, just being around Katie helped. "I thought we were headmaster and school healer on hours."

She sniffled a laugh. "I'll make sure my schedule shows I took a break just now. Get back to your class. If Winston is down the hill, I'll see if he can come talk to her."

The headmaster stalked out. He stopped at the clinic door, "I'll ... draft a new speech for your review, Madam Bell."

"Teddy Lupin's already graduated, Harry says his training is going great, but he's a little jumpy. Everyone you recommend does better than anyone could hope." It was a plea. "You don't have to prepare them like this, not so _soon."_

He turned back to face her, "But I need a replacement?"

She sank, "The school healer wouldn't lose our best defense teacher, we could find someone who was half competent to keep the school running."

He grasped the door frame, his knuckles white. "And my wife? What does Missus Orinsworth think?"

The blink was deliberate, and she smiled broadly, "That no one could do as good a job as her husband in either post. McGonagall hated your being picked for DA. I think it really meant something when she suggested you to replace her. I want you to do what makes you happy."

"And find a replacement for the other ... right." He patted on the door frame as if to comfort and reassure it. Katie would understand. She was the one who insisted on the business-like behavior at school, especially in the hospital. He knew she was right, on all counts.

Gordon hoped he was right in one respect: that he wasn't being too hopeful or too sympathetic, in letting that girl into the school.

Sam

Her mother stroked her hair and caressed her cheek.

Everything was hazy. But it didn't all fit. The smell: Wiggenweld solution and sanitation spells; she wasn't home, she was in a clinic, but the sounds, the echos meant the ceilings were too high. Light came in through tall windows. Two figures, one standing, one seated, neither of them uniformed like a mediwizard or corpsman. Had someone forced the medicine on her? They gave her shots before. Then she took pills, what now?

"Blink." It was the seated figure, a woman's voice.

Sam's throat was dry, "Where's Mom?" She blinked, the gauze started to break up, the scene began to clear.

Skein snorted, "You think they'd knowingly let your mother in here? You've been out ..." She looked down at her old-fashioned wrist watch, "fifteen minutes."

"Was dreaming? You med me up?" Sam barely made out the blue globes that floated around her. The standing figure, another woman, was pretty, in that way all little boys thought their mothers were pretty. She probably had a little boy herself. Maybe if Samantha had been "Samuel" instead ...

Her voice wasn't like the prissy British nanny Sam imagined. Despite being English, she sounded too real, too normal, "Med you up? Is that an Americanism for 'give medication', or is that how all the kids say it?" The spheres lined up about the nurse's wand. She touched each, observed each, then swept all but one of them into nothingness. "We have a daughter near your age, I need to know these things." She examined the remaining object, a star instead of an orb, then looked at a card. Sam wasn't sure what pulled tighter at her insides, her anxiety or whatever was happening in her body. The woman cast the spell.

 _Please let it be under sixty. Please keep it under sixty. Don't let it get any higher. Not for this, please, not for this._

The center of the star was mostly black, but shimmered in a bundle of metallic rainbow hues around the edge. It held in place over the wand's tip. It folded over itself as she held the wand horizontal. She brought the card up to it. "What would you say? Fifty-two? Fifty-three?"

 _Barely changed, maybe lower, but it can't be._ Sam licked her lips then bit the lower one and smiled. "Yeah. Fifty-two and a half I guess. Am I in trouble, nurse?"

"Healer, or Madame Bell. I'm more what you would take as a 'doctor' I suspect." There was a hint of ire at the word "doctor". "And the headmaster didn't say anything about being in trouble. I'm not sure how ... everyone else feels about it, though." The healer turned to Miss Skein, seated near the clinic's entrance.

The proxy stood and smoothed her jacket and skirt at the waist. "They recommend you use your medicine ... at least one week a month. They weren't so blunt as to say which week, but you can guess. Are you sure about the percentage. I was told it wouldn't go down, ever."

Sam hadn't intended any offense in mixing up the titles of "nurse" or "healer", and didn't know why the woman wouldn't like either. Nurses and doctors were always officers, they had authority, respect (or at least salutes). But none of that had caused any lasting anger in Madam Bell.

Miss Skein did, though. The healer's speech was quick, and sharp, "She's not going to adjust to anything while she's on that concoction. I really don't see how waiting until the last moment benefitted anyone. As for this," she held up the card, "tiny chart, perhaps it IS still fifty-three, I hazard that you aren't any more experienced in its use either."

It was difficult to tell, but Skein spoke more softly, "Her transformation should have cut off the group's influence on her. I gave her the chance to rein herself in, this should become easier for her as she ..." She stopped, then awkwardly offered, "No. I've only read about the chart."

It calmed the caregiver. "You have access to her medical file?"

"Yes, medical, personal, complete history."

If Skein's words were meant to confirm her authority over Sam, Bell's were offered as a challenge, "Well, we aren't going to let anything happen to Samantha while she's here. Not me, not the headmaster. The rest of the staff don't know as much, but none of them will let her be harmed either." She positioned herself as if to defend her patient, though Skein had offered no threat.

The American woman was confused, "You're worried ... about her?" She looked about, confirmed no one else had entered the otherwise empty clinic, "You know what she is and you're worried about what might happen ... to her?" She took a deep breath and turned away. Sam wondered at what her handler was going to say. What warning she would offer, what bit of information she might give up to prove the healer wrong. "Full moon" comments came to mind. "Brits. I'll stick to my obligations, and make sure no one's in danger. Come on, wild one. Muggle Studies is first floor."

Sam started to climb off the bed, but Madam Bell grabbed her arm. "She'll miss class. We'll take lunch here. She can catch up later. Doctor Sun might stop by, to speak with Samantha." Who would the insistently self-titled healer call "doctor"?

Miss Skein recovered what little she had lost of her stern demeanor, "Of course. I'll wait just outside," then like a threat, "per orders."

Healer (not Nurse or Doctor) Katie (Katherine) Bell (Orinsworth)

Katie heard the voices and footsteps and knew he had received her message. She knew he hated owl mail. She chose the smallest, cleanest one she could find (unaware that it belonged to Rose Weasley). His voice was light and relaxed, "That's wonderful, Dennis. Perhaps you can include 'mood' in your exercise regimen."

The familiar deadpan of the caretaker replied, "Takes more muscles to frown and all that, Doc?"

Dr Sun's voice tensed slightly, "There's no scientific means of proving that."

Katie approached the hospital hall's open door, "Winston! Good to see you." She not only hoped to save Dennis, and herself, a conversation about science, but wanted the muggle psychiatrist's opinion as soon as possible.

Both men regarded her artificially good mood with suspicion. Creevey took it as his cue to leave, "Good day, ... doctors." Bell narrowed her eyes. She had learned some muggle medical techniques, but found the methods too chancy, too gruesome to continue her studies. Dennis had worked much more extensively outside the wizarding community, and used his experience and knowledge to taunt her.

Winston looked at Skein standing across the hall, adjusted his glasses and entered, "Unconscious facial contortions, exactly the response he means to elicit."

Bell turned to follow, but found her colleague stopped just past the doorway, "He doesn't even wait long enough to see!" She closed the door.

"Regardless. I don't have much time, if you'd like to make an appointment -"

She cut him off with an upheld hand, then scanned her beds quickly. The female bathroom door was closed. "She's in the lav. She's eleven, from the States. I can tell you she's given to reading others' moods, and her mense might be making that worse for her."

He pushed his glasses over his brow as he pinched the corners of his eyes together and sighed, "Reading moods? Why do I ever expect anything normal here?"

The toilet flushed. Healer Bell was a bit exasperated. She always felt tense with Dr Sun. Should she ask him whether that stemmed from competitive motivations or the indignation that their two medical paths would even be compared? It was easier when she focused on her specialty being routine care and trauma, and his being minds, "I thought you specialised in _ab-_ normal psychiatry?"

The doctor put his glasses inside his coat pocket. His wife could fix his eyes, but then Harry still held onto his glasses most of the time and Dennis was coy about why he kept his. "Abnormal Psychology, or psychopathology. I've had patients who claimed to read minds, that's garden variety abnormal. The reality of dealing with someone capable of it _and_ has issues to resolve is altogether something else. I thought this was an active spell. My charm device for that is in the office." His look followed something, presumably her patient, moving behind her.

He corrected her. He gave people abhorrent medicines with a goblin's contract of side effects and _he_ corrected _HER._ "It isn't true legilimency. And it's a _counter-_ charm that stops a spell." That wasn't a complete explanation, but she wanted him to help if he could. It wasn't the time for them to squabble. She didn't always like how he did it, but he was almost always successful at helping people. "Could you talk to her?"

"As if psychiatrists and therapists were one and the same ... I don't have much time." But counter to what he said, he walked over to Samantha. "Hello, my name's Winston." He was cheerful, but he kept his hands folded in front of him as she climbed into the bed. He frequently complained about children and their hygiene, or lack thereof, and rarely made physical contact with them.

The American girl looked from the white and blue gowned healer to the tan suited doctor, "Anyone ever tell you how creepy it is for a Chinese guy to talk like he's British?"

His smile didn't diminish, "I presume there are Americans of Chinese ancestry who speak like other Americans."

She shrugged, "Well, yeah, they're American. You're a shrink aren'tcha?"

He nodded, and looked a bit less happy, "What was the give away? The suede elbow pads?"

As if the moods had exchanged, Samantha brightened up, "Nah, but most people get upset when you say racist stuff."

His nodding resumed momentarily, "You've had therapy before."

"Yeah. You a real doc or a paper doc?"

He raised his eyebrows, "Both, M.D., Ph.D. Is that reassuring?"

"Yep," Samantha sighed and slumped, "you're gonna need a lot of edju-muh-cation to deal with me."

Chapter 17 Sow What You Would Reap

Scorpius

Judging from her absence at both lunch and Muggle Studies, the Witherspoon girl would no longer be an issue. Malfoy wondered if the Americans would send a replacement. Would Hogwarts accept one? Certainly not much thought had been put into the first selection. Or, perhaps, her government had not wanted to deal with her either. Exchange students should be chosen based on their ability to represent the ideals of their home nation, not to rid themselves of a nuisance.

The Muggle Studies introduction was excruciating. It coul have been simple, but Professor Gabble made it torturous. She was genuinely interested and excited over such mundane things as light switches, microwaves, and dishwashers. Her full-size muggle flat adjacent to the classroom was accurate and unimaginative. It reminded Scorpius of the quarters over his father's London office had it been cleared of boxes and fully furnished ... twenty years ago. However, being taught about it was like studying a book for how it was made instead of its printed content: _the page is glued to a binding of different material, it's rectangular and thin, this one is blank, let's turn to the next._ He stroked his hair often to comfort himself through the crushing tedium.

Al, a few others, stifled giggles and laughs. They also had to restrain themselves from "interacting" with the model out of turn. Scorpius knew, or at least trusted his grandmother's word, that the Potters lived in her uncle's home at Grimmauld Place. It would not be similarly equipped. Though, reports in _The Daily Prophet_ newspaper implied that the Potters raised their children amongst muggles. Scorpius himself had attended public school ( _a better option than any of the government schools in Liverpool_ , he imagined in his mother's voice) while his magic lessons were at the Countess's on the weekends.

At lunch, Scorpius intended to eat alone, but the Hufflepuff first years were insistent he sit with someone, if not all of them. His salvation, or doom, came via Albus Potter.

Al slipped in past the students pressuring Scorpius to sit beside them, "Oh hey, you waited, cool." Potter stepped up on the bench and practically dragged Malfoy along. He wasn't sure why he followed, he had demurred from the other students, but went along with Al as they walked across the table. While it disturbed Scorpius, the Hufflepuffs and the nearby Ravenclaws were amused by the spectacle. The two of them went behind a tapestry and into an empty room. Albus complained, "There is, like, NOWHERE to get away in there. Professors on one end, everyone coming and going on the other, even the side seats stick us next to Gryffindor or Slytherin. Gryff didn't turn out great for us yesterday, and you're not - I mean, it's not like you - _if_ you wanted to be in Slytherin-"

The door (on this side, a tapestry on the outside) opened, Rose Weasley precariously carried several plates. "The reception room? For real, Al?" Al grabbed the top plate and handed it to Scorpius, then took a second for himself.

"Yeah. For real. No James. No Louis."

Rose sighed, "No third years at this lunch ... and no drinks. I knew I forgot something. Well, really, I couldn't have carried all that." She exitted.

Al fretted, "Hope Louis doesn't notice her."

Scorpius lashed out, "Marching over the tables wasn't exactly stealth mode!"

Al didn't look back as he cracked the door open, "Wow, did I do that? Well, Louis wasn't there yet. Not sure he is now."

Having said _something_ , Scorpius' anger subsided. Another concern took hold of this thoughts, "How do you ... what makes you think I don't want to be in Slytherin?"

"If you did, you'd've said so, and there you'd go. I'm guessing the same for me and Gryffindor." Al turned briefly, raised his eyebrows and gave a lopsided grin.

Albus opened the door, grabbed a mug from Rose and let her in before closing it again. "Water's mine, juice for you boys." She pushed a few stray, curled strands over her ear. Scorpius chided himself for thinking how her ears might not look so large if she didn't always wear her hair in a ponytail. "I was wrong. James _is_ out there, trying to, hah, _failing_ to bully back Fred for pushing him around this morning. I'm not sure Fred is being polite in not thrashing James, or if he's having too much fun taunting him. I still say they're supposed to have class right now, though."

Al spoke through his food, "Tough call wit' Fred. Might be gettin' back at 'im for Rox, all the times James gets 'em in trouble. Think he should steer a few b'udgers in James' direction." He meant "bludgers", Scorpius was certain, the animated balls of Quidditch that knocked players from their brooms.

Scorpius and Al sat cross-legged, their plates in their laps. Rose sat as if side saddle on a horse (quite proper). She also made certain her mouth was clear before responding, "I asked Roxanne and she says he's worse this year, only two days this **week!** I don't know if it's the upper league thing or just _hormones."_

The rest of lunch the three of them talked about their morning classes. It seemed an intentional gap to leave out Samantha's outburst and subsequent absence, or the delay issue. For a moment Scorpius imagined Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy, sitting in the first year reception room over lunch, avoiding Gryffindor and Slytherin both, laughing over their first days of instruction. Something about the idea nagged at him, but he willfully ignored it.

Sam

The psychiatrist left shortly after he arrived. Sam heard the healer ask about his lunch plans, but he gave one of those evasive replies about discretion. They always expected the patient to be direct and honest, but they never gave back the same.

Madam Bell was nice enough. She had Miss Skein join the two of them for lunch. There was a wooden mini-elevator that the food came up on. Bell discovered her mistake in attempting small talk with Skein after the first few yes/no responses. Sara Skein had been to England and Scotland before, she liked the weather, did not care about the food. And, clearly, did not care for conversation.

Healer Bell handed Sam a rolled up parchment, and talked about some important issues for them: what to discuss with Dr. Sun, what not to. This held Skein's interest, but she withheld any comment she might have had. The next class was about to start.

How was Sam going to face these people? Was someone going to have explained what happened? Would she have to do so herself? Could she? Couldn't she just attend class with some other house? It weighed on her the entire time down the stairs.

Terrance Wamble stood just inside the front entrance, as Sam preceded Skein down the steps. He opened the door and gave an exaggerated cough. The Hufflepuff first years, Pablo, Al and Scorpius milled about the steps. Wamble continued an imagined conversation, "Well, of course, Headmaster Orinsworth's entreaties for vigilance against our fellow man are hard enough to take when well-rested, I imagine they are even more draining with five hours of jet lag."

Sam paused a moment to think about what he said. The instinct to be right overrode her gratitude for the excuse, "Eight hours. School's in Nevada, Pacific time, before I came here." It wasn't a lie. However, she had been working to prepare for the time change her last couple of weeks. The instructors and security people had been uncharacteristically accommodating in this regard. After all, it was easier on them to get her out of the way first thing in the morning.

"Well." Wamble deflated, Sam hoped it was in relief that she hadn't exposed the charade, "That puts you at four in the morning even now."

The result wasn't immediately apparent, but as the group walked to the collection of greenhouses and tended plots Sam overheard the gossip.

"What's jet lag?"

"That's what my Da had when we came back from Belize, he was cranky falling over himself."

"All that stuff he said WAS really scary, and you know, Mum still blames our neighbor for what happened to Patches."

"Told ya she was sleepin' when the pra'fess'r called on her."

She didn't hear Al or Scorpius say anything. They were the closest to anyone she knew at this school. The Potter boy's pattern had started out simple, but got jumpy when she read him. He did feel sorry for Sam among other things, but at the same time got worked up around her. She was sure she didn't care for that, but wasn't sure if was just that she didn't completely understand Albus. Maybe he'd never had friends beyond his enormous family.

Malfoy had protected his feelings so well, but when he let that shield fall, he didn't have the nerves and fear she'd expected (which also meant he wasn't a sociopath, always good to know). Something about the zoo had made him happy and feel such love. At their age, that had to mean a parent, both of them if he was lucky.

The next class was called Herbology. _Was "Botany" that difficult a concept?_ The British were weirdos with their class names, and processes ( _tradition!_ ) Not one teacher had taken attendance yet. Orinsworth had come the closest with labeling their seats. And, as they filed into the greenhouse, it was yet another class without desks.

Other students already stood around several gut-high (chest-high for Sam) planter boxes. The Durmstrang boy, in his dark maroon uniform, gave away the group as Slytherin.

Professor Longbottom waited just to the side, a dirt-smudged, green apron over his robes. He was househead of Gryffindor and the "herb" teacher it seemed. "Ah, waited all day to see you, my first year badgers, and guests. Thank you, Terry. Our Slytherin brethren have already arrayed themselves about the stations, do so as well. Pablo, how do you feel about Hogwarts, thus far?"

The Guatemalan boy smiled and pulled out a silver disk on a chain from his robes, "The medallion Master Thomas has provided unto me is a grand gift. I had fear on finding for an Englishman willing to exchange tongues."

The Hufflepuffs were disquieted by Pablo's statement. The professor smiled agreeably, "And Mister Koverchenko, do you prefer Alexei, Alex, or...?"

Alexei calculated his response, "My father's family calls me Aloysha, but my mother's uses Alexei."

Any cheer drained from the professor's expression as he became very serious, very swiftly, "That doesn't answer the question does it?" Koverchenko was startled. Longbottom shook his head as if ridding himself of a passing possession. "I'm sorry, that was rude, but what would you prefer, young sir?" Sam wasn't sure what was more unsettling, how stern the professor had just gone, how nice he seemed otherwise, or how easily he changed between the two. What had Professor Longbottom done before Hogwarts? Teaching was often a second career.

A little shaken, Alexei hesitated, "Alex is easier on the Western tongue and ear, sir, if that is acceptable."

Settled back into "nice mode" the teacher responded, "Of course, of course, Alex, it's your name after all." He opened a red, three-ring folder similar to Professor Hagrid's. "Well then! Clearly this is Herbology, and almost all our classes will be conducted here in the greenhouses and gardens, occasionally we shall make outtings for the gathering of wild herbs. What plant did Firenze mention in his class?" No one was eager to respond. Sam didn't even know who Firenze was.

A dark-skinned girl with a tightly wrapped bun pursed her lips and flicked a clump of soil at another Slytherin girl. The second girl grunted at the dirt on her robe, "Uh!" The professor looked to her. The attention triggered something in her, "Oh, yes, he ..."

Longbottom nodded, "Well, of course, belladonna and mandrake are related to your namesake, Miss Nightshade. How did you like the Divination theater? I had thought it would be more like a modern Stonehenge myself."

The Nightshade girl looked about to her housemates. There had probably been a short list of plants to talk about, and maybe he made the name association logically. Sam wasn't sure that was the case, and didn't dare scan in his presence. His mood changes were like the special investigator at Groom Lake, and she suspected Longbottom was just as psychically aware.

The dirt-flicking girl spoke up, "It was brilliant, sir, though I've not had the privilege to..."

"Well, of course. But don't let the grudges of modern druids weigh on your mind, Miss Lafayette." The girl, along with several other were uncertain what just happened. Sam felt her instincts were right. He was reading them, some form of telepathy, with almost no effort, and without an obvious broadcast. As one of her video games often said, "shields to full!"

He referenced the folder, "As with most of your classes we will be doing more introduction to the how's and what's and where's and why's than learning about any one particular herb today." As the class went on, the folder served to remind the professor, but was much less intrusive than with Professor Hagrid in Creatures.

Sam kept to herself as the instructor went over the implements they would use in class and how to assemble their kits. There were large collections of tools in tubs on the greenhouse's adjoined patio. Aside from the intimidating teacher, she was glad to be outside. Sam stopped to take in the sun and the breeze for a moment. She breathed in the tilled earth and potting solutions. They didn't smell good so much as they triggered pleasant memories of times shared with her mother and their attempts at gardening.

Longbottom inspected each student's bucket for the required inventory. He'd already finished with the assigned students. "Miss Witherspoon, is something wrong?" She'd been daydreaming. She was in trouble, of course.

Sam stood apart from the "delayed" boys, "No, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'll -"

He examined her collection, "No no, it's quite all right, you have everything you need, though you might want someone to shrink your gloves. Did you have any trouble finding everything?" He politely asked, as if part of some customer survey.

Her voice was still wistful, "It was easy." She thought to say, _easy when you don't talk to anyone, or don't try to make out what they're feeling, stop caring if they like you_. But what came out was: "The list clipped to the bucket is in the same order as the tubs." She held it up to him as if she needed proof.

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side then blinked out of the change in expression. "I'm so sorry, class. Rude habit," He stood and shook his head. "I keep trying to pick up stray thoughts and such. Most of you weren't even born then, but, well, I'll cut that out right now." He was courteous in his apology. The class was still confused, but Sam understood. She had been guarding her thoughts. In turn, Longbottom had hit a mental wall and realized what he'd been doing. "At least until you attend Headmaster Orinsworth's fourth year of instruction. But, still in Herbology, you have your tools, let's find your storage and put them up for now."

Under the greenhouse overhang was a wall of wide-spaced cubbyholes. Sam moved quickly to get a low one. Most girls her age were at least the same height as the boys, and this might be the only point in their lives they would be even taller. Sam was always the shortest. Her father was supposedly tall, but perhaps his height was some male, Y chromosome only thing.

"Oh, Alex, Pablo, ... no Andre, and, I guess our three, uh, those awaiting sorting, hold onto your kits. The shelf is set by house and year to change each period. I'll likely forget by Thursday." He laughed at himself.

Sam wondered why it mattered. Except for the sized stuff, all the toolsets were the same, it wasn't as if ... "They have our names on them," she remarked as she turned the trowel over in her hand. "Sam W." etched along the leather handle. _When? Who? Why, if there were huge bins of this stuff?_

"Yes, yes, you three put yours inside, under that first table," Just inside, there was a curtain around the sides of the potting tables. It was just a moment that she couldn't hear him. Though it was just the three of them, they didn't interact except to make room for the others to put his or her bucket away. On exiting, Sam observed that Pablo and Alexei were on their way to other greenhouses. The professor continued in response to someone else's question, "That way we can account for the tools, and charmed tools will be easy to detect during testing and such." Really? People cheated at plant tending? "Now, our first point question. Someone other than Mister Malfoy, I see he has earned twenty-five points already. What are the classes of plants and their distinguishing characteristics?" Blinking eyes and silence were followed by the flipping of textbook pages. "Joking, joking, but that _is_ part of the Ordinary Wizarding Levels exam for this class. The real question is (close your books): what do all the herbs here have in common, and what _aren't_ any of the herb sources here?" The class continued to look about, muted and confused. Al softly nudged Scorpius on the shoulder. He received an annoyed glare in return. The professor prompted the oldest of them, "Alex?"

The Durmstrang student grimaced, "Though we grow a great deal in my nation, sir, I am afraid I know little of agriculture, Professor."

A plain blond girl from Slytherin raised her hand suddenly, "Domestic and wild. I mean, all the ones here are domestic, uh, domesticated, and they aren't wild." That Lafayette girl (she looked ... African, Asian, both?) nodded approvingly. Sam wanted to scan her. She had prodded the Nightshade girl into answering, and her approval of the blond girl's answer struck Sam as ... odd. It was _not_ typical student behavior.

Professor Longbottom looked a bit shocked, yet pleased. "I had no idea that one was so difficult." He went to his notebook and made a mark. "Well, ten points then to Slytherin, good work, Miss Hirsch. What would you have said, Mister Malfoy?"

"Cultivated and naturally occurring, but, sir, there could be naturally occurring herbs here."

 _Why was it that these instructors expected Malfoy to know these things? Wasn't it Potter's father with books written about him? Maybe the Hufflepuffs weren't brilliant, but one of them_ _ **might**_ _know an answer_.

Longbottom smiled and nodded, "Indeed, there could be, and there are certainly cultivated herbs found in what we would call the wild. Good answers both to an apparently poorly phrased question. Another point to your eventual home, Scorpius." He made more than a simple mark in the book this time. "Let's do go over those types of plants, though, what else might we use, and why this class is not simply called Botany." The Wallace kid's hand shot up, bumping the snooty girl from Transfiguration (Aston). "Silvair?"

"Fungi, sir, aren't plants 'cause they don't have chloropl-chloropha-chlorophy- they aren't green." There were several laughs. Professor Longbottom provided "chlorophyll" and added how the course's focus was on the use of the gathered materials (three points to Hufflepuff) and that not everything they gathered would (technically or otherwise) be a plant.

The class continued on a tour of the facilities, similar to Alchemy the day before, only, without any of the furniture. Sam felt like she should set something on fire just to prove it: _SEE, it's me, I'm the problem, no one else._ Maybe her mother would be permitted another call. Not likely, though. Skein had scolded her that if the first call hadn't already been approved, Sam's behavior certainly wouldn't have earned it. _Oh well, gotta try anways._

Scorpius

All he had to do was reach the Hufflepuff common room, collect his assignments, and he would have something to distract him. The song Lila used to memorize the first year lesson's plants and properties kept going through his head. He picked a station so he would not see her during class. It had helped.

A mob of students pressed out from the castle's main entrance. Malfoy had let himself forget grounds maintenance. Ixchel and Koverchenko went inside as the second year class leaders called out for their first year counterparts. Scorpius thought about how it would look from overhead: one large group dividing into four, each joining up with a similar group that had just split in two. _Two and two split to one's joined one's from four to make four two's once more._ The sing-song of the plant list affected him more than he'd thought.

Today's task was the north road, wall, and grounds. It looked rather clear and it did not seem there would be much to do. The second years split up amongst the first years. Several grabbed rakes from the tool shack near the north gate and tended to the gravel road. Two second years cast return charms on the gravel that had sifted into the grass. Any first year who could was encouraged to levitate the few pieces of rubbish here and there. Scorpius garnered praise for his control with the spell. He was not comfortable with that, but it eased his mind that imitations of his method seemed to help other students.

The enormity of the area made up for how simple the work was. Scorpius gave into his curiosity and looked for the cause of the sizzling he heard. Several others had already determined the source and watched warily. Samantha focused on something. A leaf flitted up for a moment, sparked and popped, then crumpled into ash. The ample space made it easy for everyone to give her a wide berth. Malfoy guessed that as he could not hear the Hufflepuffs' whispers, neither could Witherspoon. She slumped, moved on, and concentrated on something. The weathered wizard trading card flew briefly before igniting. She might set the entire field afire if she wasn't careful.

The bell tower rang out across the grounds. Had he not been distracted, Scorpius would have noticed the second years had already subtly herded them north to the gate. Those on the far side of the road were careful to not dislodge any pebbles from the path. All but one. Samantha kicked a pair of dotted streaks across the road. While those further ahead (and those anxious to leave) did not notice, those that witnessed it shook their heads and sighed in resignation. Again, all but one, this time a different one. Albus rushed over to Samantha. Scorpius could not make out what Potter said as he put his hand on her shoulder. She twisted away and missed as she tried to swat his hand. She turned back to the road. It sounded like a frying skillet for a moment. Her arms swept out from where she had held them before her. Even at a distance, her challenge was easy to make out, "How's that for 'better'?" She turned and raced to the castle. Al was left staring at the road. What had him fixated was not apparent until Scorpius reached him.

The stones were aligned to form lines and words. It was a rather precise imitation of a school crossing's painted lines and silhouettes. There wasn't even a stray pebble of gravel in the grass. Al looked briefly to Scorpius, "Told her not to worry, she'll do better when she gets a wand." Maybe America _had_ sent a qualified student. He hoped his father would have a chance to call soon.

Chapter 18 Comforts

Albus

He didn't want to drag Scorpius ( _again!_ ) to catch up with the Hufflepuffs. Potter hadn't meant to do it at lunch. Luckily, Malfoy hurried without prodding. It wasn't much effort, but it still seemed to annoy Scorpius. The gravel thing with Sam probably hadn't helped.

There was a scrum of young Ravenclaws and Slytherins at the castle entrance. Inside, the main hall was slightly less chaotic than at lunch as the one group pushed to enter, and another pressed to exit. Albus took advantage of each gap and break. When it would have been too late, he thought to check behind him. Scorpius was disgruntled, but right on Al's heels. The other students were almost all older, mostly _much_ older. With everyone seemingly on their way to and from Defense or Alchemy (or whatever else was in the dungeon) Albus couldn't tell where the first and second year Hufflepuffs had gone.

Scorpius saw something and tugged at Al to go left. "The others started down this passage before Defence." Al was certain Malfoy was right. He seemed pretty bright, and all the teachers knew it, too. Except, that was the way to the kitchen. Then, Al saw it was also a way to avoid his brother James' coming from the right (someone Scorpius wanted to avoid as much as Al did). The giant feast painting was there after the first turn.

Wamble's distinctly gruff voice came from beside them, "It seems you took 'delay' as direction, rather than mere declaration." Al jumped, wary of potential electric results. "Skittish?" The headstudent turned back through the archway into a large waiting room.

The room was unlike anywhere else Al had seen in Hogwarts. _Wasn't this closed off before?_ Everything was curved and carved. The wooden walls were rounded, the supports melded into the floor and ceiling: the only straight lines in the room were a few picture frames ( _Where did all the barrels go?_ ). Their classmates for the day sat on cushioned couches and stools. The furniture was inviting, like a grandmother's hug: soft, warm, and sweet. Al chose a plush, empty futon.

Scorpius looked about. "Where do we find our assignments?"

Heather Merriweather perked up at the inquiry, "Ah, Mister Malfoy." She handed him a parchment. "And Mister Potter." She smiled politely at Al as she handed him a similar sheet. "Give Madam Gabble complete sentences, she doesn't like phrases." Henry Merriweather wasn't very popular in the Ministry. People said he only paid attention to what he wanted, and ignored everything else. Al wasn't sure if the same was true about his daughter (considering what Al had learned about one of the Malfoys firsthand, other people's opinions of Mr Merriweather were also quite doubtful).

The assignment sheet had Al's name at the top, handwritten of course (could you put parchment in a printer?) He didn't really want to think about the day. Avoiding the text brought his gaze upward. The entire ceiling was covered in ornate carvings, like web comics, but of centaurs, elves and humans building and farming. Actually, the only thing not covered in wood was the floor. It was all quite cozy, quite pleasant, quite ... relaxing ...

Scorpius sounded upset, "What do you think she means by 'Why do muggles keep toxins in their homes?' Medicines are not toxic. If she means pest traps, that's obvious!"

Something else was wrong. People had moved, were some of them gone? Al felt very heavy. "Huhn? What? Cleaning stuff, she talked about not mixing glass cleaner and uh ... am I- I mean, was I sleeping?"

Scorpius nodded sharply without losing focus on his work, "Ah, bleach and glass cleaner make a toxic gas, right. You were asleep ... most the hour." Malfoy scribbled the answer.

Potter was puzzled, "Weren't you paying attention?"

"I stayed awake." It was matter of fact, not annoyed like most people would have been.

Albus became enthused and leaned over to Scorpius, "No, no! During class," He started speaking in a high-pitched gasp, "Look, children! Muggles call this a lamp! Muggles also use these 'lamps' for light, but it's not like a normal lamp, no! It doesn't use magic or oil! It works on e-lec-tric-i-ty! It's like lightning! Muggles control it with little more than copper and rubber!" Al rolled his eyes and sunk over his legs. Scorpius hunkered down further and further, fighting his snickering. The young Potter continued in his own voice, though mockingly, "I mean, next thing I wanted to ask was: 'Oh! So they use lightning to power the house?' C'mon, a lamp's a lamp. The muggle thing is the light bulb. Liiight buuulb. Like Uncle Ron says, she's barking."

Scorpius shook softly as he held his amusement back. His face was red and he was out of breath, "You mean, heh, you mean, oh, you mean your Uncle Ro-Ronald Weasley?" He blew out a long sigh.

Al slacked back into the seat. He also paused to catch his wind. Then he asked sullenly "Does everyone know Ron, too?"

Scorpius got serious, "Ronald Weasley? He manages the largest business on Diagon Alley. That alone would make him well-known even if not for ..."

Al's eyes were downcast and darted about. When Malfoy stopped Albus asked, "What? What did he do? I mean, he used to be an Auror, or he was gonna be one, and I know he was there when Dad, well, ..."

"Of course he was there. So was his wife, well, your aunt, a lot of people were. Even my parents, and grandparents, but ... Ron Weasley _really_ helped your father."

"Your parents were there? What'd they do? Were they, I mean ..." Al truly wanted to know, but the conversation scared him, yet somehow encouraged him at the same time.

It was Scorpius' turn to look away, "Err, Mother was in no position to help. And Father ... the account we read, it ... well, he says he didn't ... help that is. Says he wasn't aware, or ... I don't ..." Scorpius wouldn't face Albus again.

Al tweaked his shoulder, "And this! This is how they control the lamp!" He did his exaggerated imitation of Madam Gabble, "It's called a switch, but it isn't a piece of wood. You don't even need a wand to use it!" Al and Scorpius fell back into the soft cushions smiling, but not quite laughing. "C'mon, really. Is there a right answer for the Defence question: 'What do you want to learn to defend against?' Doesn't sound like him. I was expecting something like," Al changed to a gruff, low voice, "You insult your mate's mum. He breaks a bottle and turns on you," Al then pounced at Scorpius from his seat and held both hands out. "WHAT do you do?" He giggled at his own antics.

Scorpius smirked and rolled his eyes. "After his speech, I do not see ... I mean ... everyone is going to answer about something someone else, another person, might do to them."

His eyes narrowed, Al nodded as if in agreement, "Do you always talk like that? Rose does it, too. You two, like, sound grown up or something. And how long HAVE you been studying magic?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..."

"No! It's OK." Al mellowed and sat back again. "It's actually pretty cool. I wish I could ... well, make what I say sound right. Or _be_ right. See?!" Scorpius chuckled a little. "I know Rose gets it from her mum. Your mum or dad real smart?"

Scorpius paused before he answered, "I suppose."

Al didn't want to pester Scorpius, "You must've done aces in primary." But he didn't want to have to do his assignments on his own either, "Probably used to helping out your friends with schoolwork. You got a bunch of friends back home, don't ya?"

Malfoy got uncomfortable. It was kind of like talking to a house-elf: the nicer you were, the worse they felt. "I don't know. Grandmother worried that - I don't - I'd have to lie ... about magic, so, I don't have - no, I have _one_ friend."

"Well, one's a start." Albus tried to relax. Scorpius was anxious enough already. "But I wouldn't rely too much on him. Can't pay attention during lessons and always looking for help on his work."

The reply was quick, "Oh no, Lila is - what? 'Him'?" Malfoy was puzzled.

Al opened his eyes wide a moment, "Who's Lila? Anyway, like I was saying, you think there's a right answer, or the headmaster wants us to make up something?" Albus struggled to not look nervous. As his mother would say, "it's their ball now".

While Al read and reread the one line assignment, Scorpius glanced over several times. He sucked in his lips and pulled at his hair before he responded, "I think, and, I'm not trying to be odd, but I'd be afraid of being betrayed."

"Oh! That would be _awful._ I mean, like if you had a brother you actually LIKED, and he and your uncle moved a screaming painting inta your room." Al's eyes rolled back at the thought of it, but before he could explain permanent sticking charms or the dementia of Walburga Black, he was cut off. A rush of older students jammed the Hufflepuff common room.

The younger students gave way for the older groups without a fight from either side. Al and Scorpius were joined by several first year Hufflepuffs: Jeremy Talbot, Silvair Wallace, Melissa Aston, and Heather Merriweather. The couch was suddenly too small, Merriweather and Aston to one side, Talbot and Wallace to the other. At least they helped (everyone) finish their assignments. Scorpius, as Albus had expected, was the best at figuring out the tougher questions. Except for the seating (Heather kept squirming) it was a good time. Especially, Al thought, with his new friend.

Sam

Pacing alone in her room was no longer a pattern, or a habit, it had evolved into a clichè. Sam berated herself with comebacks she could have said, better shapes to form in the stones. Rock control, earth magic in general, was easy, but this place ... feathers, wands, traditions, _hats!_ If only she could put on her music: music to rage to, music to dance to, music to chill out and think. There was nowhere to plug in at Castle Pixie-Sticks, even the hair dryer was powered by an emberstone. Everything else was some weird version of anything modern: a hand-faced clock, oil lamps, and enchanted moving pictures. Her phone

Sam pecked at "Music" and queued up a selection from an old group. When Mr. Phillips described them to her she had laughed: from the 1970s, Canadian, poetic, singing about teen angst and ancient myths. The group icon was a naked man from behind, walking across a pentagram. At least _that_ wasn't ludicrous, right? But the songs meant something, and helped her reflect on life, here, now and thousands of years ago in places she'd never seen. The battery gave out after only two songs, but those were the ones she needed to hear most. One about trying to fit in, the other about wanting to be something more. Neither made the argument that one way or the other was better. That was up to the listener to decide.

She hauled her case out from the end of the bed. Her hand traced across the locks and they clunked and swung in response. _School clothes and supplies, normal clothes, electronics, music ..._ Sam pressed her thumb to the lock. Nothing happened. Add magic trigger wards to the list of aggravations.

Outside the door, Miss Skein sat on a chair from her room, legs crossed. The government assigned chaperone lowered the newspaper and eyed Sam suspiciously. "Running away already?"

Sam responded with a stare of what she hoped was the clearest and most disheartening lack of amusement. She pushed as hard as she could, but the chest did not cooperate. It slowly scraped into the hall. Witherspoon wiped sweat from her forehead and decided that the lock being in the hall was far enough. She held the lock up in her left hand.

"Better safe than sorry. Imagine what would happen to your things if access to that extra space was interfered with somehow." Skein hadn't moved to help, nor had she resumed reading. "Use one of your strong forms to pull it into the hall."

It made Sam snap, "Like that's safe! I wanna listen to my music but the battery's dead, so I thought I'd play and the point is to chill out and ..." Miss Skein stood. The hall seemed to chill ever so slightly. Sam calmed before she continued, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm upset, not fire form kind of upset. I just want to get my bass out. I wasn't trying to 'antagonize'."

The woman adjusted her skirt. "Push from inside." She grabbed the handle on the near side as Sam scrambled back over the large trunk. "Steady, don't jump it and break something." It was still an effort for both of them, though the crumpled newspaper was the only injured party. "There aren't any outlets to plug in that amplifier."

The chest took up the hall side to side, but it was fully out of the room. Sam pressed her thumb to the fourth lock. It clicked, she pulled it open and out of the loop, let the clasp fall then hung the lock on the hasp. "I don't need the amp to practice, _ma'am."_ She pulled out what looked like a striped board on a strap and slung it over her shoulder and across her back. The guitar had little in resemblance to a typical instrument. It had four strings and was almost four feet long, but it had a clear, linear body. It tapered out only slightly. Skein coughed a warning. Sam responded without a glance, "Don't worry, it won't hit the floor. I'm tall enough now." She leafed through a milk crate of folders and picked out the one with the songs she had just listened to. She stood and mumbled as she flipped pages, "Some fives, mostly fours, a few threes. Tough stuff, play worse, guys."

Skein tapped one foot, "You know he cheated. Why don't you grab your converter while you have this out here?"

"Pedals and keyboards aren't cheating." What the woman had said suddenly registered. Sam brightened as her eyes went wide. There was no actual magic to the change, but she looked like another person when she smiled. She closed the chest, opened the third lock and threw the chest back open. There was a tray of neatly arranged, padded sections. Sam grabbed a copper lined, wooden box with slotted sides. She held it up to the ceiling as if she'd just claimed a prized trophy, and called up to the ceiling, "Wooo! The magilectro converter Mom gave me!"

The chaperone's eyes closed halfway, "Howl a little louder. She might not have heard you."

Unabashed, Sam looked back to Skein, "Can I call her again tonight?"

"No, your behavior yesterday used up any further calls for the week. You already have a detention. _If_ you actually behave yourself, perhaps something could be arranged this weekend."

The cheer started to fade but failed to disappear, "No, not U.S. Proxy Sara Skein or a vampire's detention can wipe out the happiness of my having the coolest mom in the world." She thrust the odd device at Skein as evidence.

Sam closed the chest, stood atop it, and faced into her room. "Alfred, home!" She held her hand close to her chest, facing out and flat. Skein took a step back. Sam thrust her hand forward and the stone floor oozed up and rolled into a hand to push the back of the trunk, evenly sliding it just into the guest room. She turned and looked, confused for a moment. She stretched for the door handle from atop her luggage, and struggled to close the door as she mumbled, "Dorky wards."

Albus

Dinner would ring soon. The smells of food already filled the Hufflepuff common room. Last time Al thought found something behind the painting across from the kitchen entrance, it had been a stack of barrels. Then again, there hadn't been an aquarium last time he was here either.

He'd also never thought about what attending Hogwarts would really be like. Al had known he'd be doing magic, but he didn't think that would include so much work. Yet, there he was, his assignments in hand and done. The process was unlike the day before with Rose. She was hard on him to start, but broke down and gave Al the answers in the end, or at least the right place in the book (if Al couldn't get the answer off her sheet before that). Malfoy, on the other hand, asked what Al remembered from the class. From there, he drew the answer out of Al without Al realising he remembered _anything_ from class. He thought it was a waste of time at first. However, as he gathered his things at the bell, he thought of: find the plant, tend the plant, pick the plant, get the herb, gather and plant seeds, use the herb. It was easier to recite than: _identify environment, required surroundings and nutrients, cultivation method, special collection process, reproduction and application._ And, Scorpius reassured him, both the book's version and Al's meant the same thing.

Wamble came from the kitchen and called out, "Hark, yon visitors. We dine with the esteemed hostess of House Hufflepuff." Al wondered if Terry acted silly-serious because they were younger, or if that was just how he always was. Hermione would know a better word (pompous and bombastic were not in Al's vocabulary). Either way, having to eat with Madam Gabble sounded awful to Al no matter what the message or how it was delivered.

Scorpius whispered under his breath, "If she tries to convince us muggles dine differently I'm eating in the reception hall."

"Cooking ...," Al stated confidently and nodded. He went on in his Gabble-voice, "It's NOT a telly! You can tell by how deep it is. It's a muggle-wave oven! You must be veeerrry careful what you cook in it!" Scorpius tried to suppress his laughter again. Al continued his comedy routine, but wondered at how life at the Malfoy house had to be very quiet or very serious.

The Great Hall wasn't far. It didn't hurt that everyone gave way for the Hufflepuff headstudent. Mr Wamble took the seat beside the head end of the Hufflepuff table. Al and Scorpius sat beside him. Across from them, someone was just leaving from behind Witherspoon. Sam looked calm, like she was thinking. She barely noticed their arrival, though her mouth twitched in what might have been the fastest smile ever when she looked at Albus. _Could have been another sneer._

Wamble looked to the north entrance doors. He cleared his throat and stood, "Professor Gabble approaches. I'd leave the subject of muggle-wave ovens behind us." He glanced back to confirm his "suggestion" was heard.

The Hufflepuff househead took the headstudent's usual seat while Scorpius and Al stifled their mirth. Terry sat as well, both he and Sam looked expectantly to the new arrival. The dinner of chicken and macaroni (there were a good deal many other things to eat, but these caught Al's hungry eyes) appeared as Gabble spoke, "Well, it's encouraging to see you in good humor. Terrance could be quite entertaining before he set his mind on more serious pursuits."

Terry hesitated in bringing the cup to his mouth and shifted his eyebrows, exchanging a suspicous glance with the professor, "Constant vigilance." He almost smiled as he sipped. At first, Al was certain Terry must read "Moody's Eye on You", but then again that _was_ the most famous line, and even people who didn't keep up with the story knew that.

Gabble suppressed something as she held her breath and turned to the other bench, "And what say you, Miss Witherspoon?"

Sam held up her plate, "Don't question the noms!" She set it down and ate.

The professor had a confused reaction, "Well, I heard you were quite tired today. I do hope you feel better rested soon." At that comment, Al noted no one was actually sitting directly across from himself or Scorpius. Sam was on the other side, but one seat down from them. The Hufflepuffs had not filled in the bench as they had at other meals, giving Samantha quite a bit of breathing room. She was going through major new kid syndrome. Albus thought about moving to sit beside her, but was interrupted. "However, as for the three of you, I am quite glad this has finally occurred. The sorting hat, despite its own warnings, has historically been a subtle but instrumental factor of division within the wizarding community. This is yet another indicator of its obsolescence."

No one responded as the professor started in on her own supper. Al wasn't sure what "obsolescence" even meant, but more so, did not know the hat gave warnings.

Al's thoughts on the hat were distracted by two new arrivals. Pablo and Andre chatted with each other as they sat down, filling in the vacancy between the professor and Sam. While Andre spoke French, Pablo continued to answer in his odd English, "The kitchen staff are very responded to requests. You gone to the Inspired anew after supper, no?"

Andre drew a breath to respond, but held it as Professor Gabble cut in, "Mister Sebastien, please confine your conversations with Mister Ixchel to English. His amulet will adjust much more slowly when confused with another language." Al paused in his eating. The Hufflepuff househead had just been much more stern and, well, Grannie Weasley-like than she had in class. Her voice was still about as high-pitched as Al's nine year-old sister, but there was something very different there for a moment.

The large teen did not seem convinced, "Oui, Madame, but Pablo's French is très - ah ... very good."

Gabble's eyebrows flinched, "No. Though you hear French, Mister Ixchel is speaking Spanish. But as your languages are closer in relation, the charm will more rapidly adjust to yours. As our student body and curriculum are English, I require any further discussion you have to likewise BE- IN- ENGLISH." She gave a tight lipped grin as she raised her eyebrows and took a sip from her goblet.

"Ah, yes. Of course, m'dame." Once again, Andre was hilariously cowed into silence. Al covered his amusement with eating. He expected Sam to enjoy the exchange as well. However, as concentrated on her meal as she was, she didn't even look like she had heard.

The professor, indeed everyone, ate without speaking for several minutes. Al wanted to laugh out loud so bad. He had to concentrate to drink for fear of snorting the beverage out his nose. It was so like on the train, and he was fit to erupt. Then he looked at Sam, and the thought of "erupting" only made it worse.

Gabble took another drink and quite deliberately posed herself towards Andre, "Now, Mister Sebastien ... is there a method of student division at Beauxbatons? (In English, please)."

Were it possible, Andre seemed to grow, perhaps it was just the full breath he took to start an exhaustive (exhausting) speech on his school, "Oui- ah, yes. By year of study, of course, though that does not necessarily mean by age, some start early, and ..."

Sam raised an eyebrow out of ... curiousity?

This was not the answer the Muggle Studies instructor was looking for, or so it seemed by her interruption, "Chronological division is natural and logical in the progress of academic pursuits. Likewise your classes are divided by subject, and student housing segregated by gender. However, are there any _unnatural_ divisions?"

Andre paused and thought a little. A wise choice considering the likely reaction if he didn't give the right answer (again). "Students have a room to each self, but that is all. Ah ..." The professor let him trail off. He appeared unsure if he was even permitted to continue.

Wamble looked frustrated, and glanced about as if he was tired, "No. The answer is 'no'. Our French brethren select based on aptitude, and desire," he stared squarely at Andre. Terry lost all the humor in his tone, "Even species is not a barrier to study for them."

While Scorpius, Al, and Pablo watched on, someone spoke up, the voice soft and low, "What about not-quite-humans using wands, like goblins, uh, werewolves, vampires?" Andre peered over Pablo to see Samantha as she stared at her meal. Without looking up, she spoke with just a hint of annoyance, "Well?"

Andre barely started to speak when Gabble answered, "It is likely America still teaches that England prohibits such activities. However, the Code of Wand Use, Clause three was repealed in 2001. Along with many such changes in those days."

A short break in the professor's speech gave Andre an opening, "But, most that are not human, in part, find wands of limited use. Indeed, this is the leading point in the understanding that the goblin leader in the Hogsmeade Cleansing was, by some measure, human."

Al was nudged into Scorpius as Terry leaned towards Andre, "The Goblin Rebellion of 1612 you mean."

Sam added, "You say tomato, I say a fruit deemed a vegetable for the purposes of taxation." Al hoped that was meant to be funny, as he had to laugh at the weirdness of it. However the comment was meant, it eased the building tension between the older boys. Albus' reaction earned a glance and passing smile from Sam.

Professor Gabble appraised her headstudent. She turned her head to Pablo, but kept her eyes on Terrance until the last moment, "Speaking of fruits and vegetables, will the kitchen serve your purposes, Mister Ixchel?"

Al liked how Pablo reacted. It was as if he had just been delightfully introduced to everyone there, "Oh yes. Are numbered common creatures there. Butchery and rendering of their parts is as help rather than unsightly or bothersome."

The househead went pale and made an odd noise. She quickly drank her cup empty. Wamble guffawed heartily, "Thank you, Señor!" He held a piece of chicken up ceremoniously before he tore off a bite and chewed.

Al turned to Scorpius who was shaking his head. As Potter faced back to the professor he caught Witherspoon shaking her head in an identical manner to Malfoy. Gabble moved slightly back from the table and commented, "Perhaps I have not properly appreciated more serious natures."

Terry did not let up. He inquired as he chuckled, "Will you be finishing that?" He pointed his chicken bone at her plate, "Mister Potter intends to eat enough to catch up to Professor Hagrid before year's end." His face was red.

Gabble held her hand across her mouth, index finger along her nose. "The hallmarks of Helga Hufflepuff are hard work, those that contribute in said works, and appreciation of the spoils of their labour." She continued to glower at Wamble who was still bright in the cheeks. "Foremost she sought unity." She stood, Wamble and Sebastien followed in suit. Al startled in confusion. Terry must have thought Albus intended to follow suit as he held Al in place. Sam appeared suspicious of the older students and their sudden standing. The Hufflepuff househead looked at the upright boys, but Al thought she was addressing the three of them (the 'delays'), "Should you require any clarification about House Hufflepuff, you are invited to contact myself or Professor Garfuhn, children." She proceeded purposefully to the staff dining table.

The Ravenclaw headstudent stretched out a fist towards the Hufflepuff table. Without looking, Terry extended his arm and the two exchanged a rapid series of complicated hand motions that Al could only describe as a secret handshake. Wamble turned and stated offhandedly, "She tries too hard to make up for her age." Professor Gabble was probably the youngest of the staff, maybe still in her twenties.

And her plate was happily claimed in full by Al.

"Mister Wamble?" Sam forced a weak smile as the headstudent looked to her, "Is there ... can I go now?"

The older boy barely shrugged in response, "There is nothing keeping you here, miss, be certain to finish your classwork before you slumber."

Samantha sniffed out a chuckle, "Thanks," then turned and left.

It was calm for a moment, until Andre began to speak, "Is there something I have said or done to offend you, Monsieur Wamble?"

The headstudent cleared his mouth, bared his teeth and ran his tongue across them like a wolf about to finish off its prey. Before he could speak though, Scorpius turned around on the bench and dripped what was left in his mug on Al. Scorpius spoke almost mechanically, "Oh my. You don't want that to stain." Scorpius stood and pulled at Al's sleeve. Albus was perplexed, but spun off the bench to follow.

Not understanding, Potter gave in and went with Malfoy to the Great Hall exit. "Scorp, not much got on me. And the robe's black anyway." They passed the Slytherin table rapidly and were soon through the entrance hall. As they reached the guestroom, Al's patience reached its end. He grabbed Scorpius by the shoulder and tugged him round, "Hey, Scorpius!"

The blonde boy stopped and faced Albus, "They don't have a way of sorting us, do they?"

Yet again, Al felt off-guard, "Uh, well, no. I don't think so. Like Neville said, this's never happened before."

Scorpius examined the floor, or more likely was thinking. Malfoy looked up and shook his head, "They're just going to put the hat on us again aren't they? And if it doesn't work again, they'll just send us where they want."

Al nodded and gave a half-hearted shrug, "Your guess is as good as mi- ha, you're right!" There was no fighting that Malfoy was the smarter of the two of them, maybe even smarter than Rose (and that was saying a lot).

Upon that agreement, Scorpius faced the door, pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked their guestroom door. "You did finish all your assignments, didn't you?"

"I think I'll change my defence subject to: 'The sorting hat is out to get me'."

Malfoy laughed as he climbed onto his bed, "Out for your friend, too?"

Al didn't even try to restrain his smile, "Yeah, him, too."

The Headmaster

The door thudded and clanked at once as the wood and metal banding struck the stone wall. As the headmaster (and others) strode off, Professor Hagrid eased the door shut. Neville preceded Dean to the broad, ornate desk as Gordon went swiftly around it. "I forgot the speech!" The headmaster pounded his desk. "Again!" The few items atop it jumped and shifted, "You seriously try to skeeve out all four of your first year classes, Dean?"

Rubeus smiled broadly and held out his worn-edged red folder, "Neville and me got these here binders fer not forgettin' things, Gord'n. Oh!" He was distracted by a sheet that poked out. He removed it and handed it over, "Today's points, Neville." Hagrid placed the open binder before the headmaster, "Got sheet holders over everthin' to keep the lessons clean and all. Herbs and Creatures get a bit messy, ya know?"

Orinsworth's glare at Thomas did not waver. He clenched his jaw as he sat and threatened through his teeth, "So, nothing to note in Creatures? Professor Thomas ..."

Dean Thomas was leery of the confrontation. He leaned back and wiped his face, "I didn't _actually_ leave them, Gordon."

Professor Longbottom solemnly interjected, "Andre, Alexei, and Xiau caught Dean's disillusionment charm. It's no slight against Hijaj or the first year Gryffindors that they didn't."

The headmaster leaned forward in his chair and resumed his berating, "No, problem is you'd make these children think their professor abandonned them!"

Dean Thomas lurched forward and jabbed his finger at Orinsworth. He was suddenly serious and hostile, "You want these kids ready for anything! You're the only one that takes license in his instruction? They weren't in danger for even a moment. The worst happened was a superbly cast, silent cast mind you, _flippendo_ on my best mate's son. And I got a cushioning charm under him just in case. You really think I'd risk any harm to my godson? I didn't hide it from Neville, and I knew he'd report it to you. How'd Hufflepuff first year Defence go?" The Charms professor was anything but his normally relaxed and fun-loving self.

Neville stood and placed his hand on Dean's outstretched arm, "Hagrid, Dean, I think the headmaster would like a chance for us to speak privately." Dean jumped up and stalked off like a petulant student.

Hagrid turned around about halfway to the door. He meekly grabbed his binder from the broad desk, "Shouldn't be forgettin' that." He made a small wave with his fingers and left as quietly as he could.

Not quite a minute passed before Longbottom broke the silence, "Gordon, if-"

Orinsworth stood and waved off the comment. He'd calmed considerably, "Katie 'n' I already did this scene in the clinic. I need a replacement, I know."

"And did you two talk about Dean, also?"

Gordon was slightly shocked, though more annoyed at the inquiry, "No, this isn't some ex-boyfriend, jealousy thing." It was another minute before either spoke again. "It's not even Dean, is it? He had a right clever way to observe his new classes, to keep the older exchange students engaged."

"Then what?" Neville hadn't moved since standing. He held his hands before him.

The headmaster sat again and put his fist to his mouth in thought, "The Witherspoon girl ... like Dean was gettin' at, dunno what she was gonna do today, not even entirely sure what she's capable of. Silent cast maybe, but _uncontrolled_ is my concern ... not all her though, is it? I had everyone in knots again. Went off track about Grindenwald." He looked up above Longbottom's head to see the portrait of Albus Dumbledore slowly nod in contemplation. "Americans sent the right chaperone, shut 'er down faster 'an I could tell what's what."

"So, you're concerned about what she might do? She can shield her thoughts at eleven."

The headmaster turned about in mild shock, it was as if he just remembered there was a person in the room with him, "How'd you figure that?"

Neville slumped and took the chair from in front of the desk and sat beside the headmaster, "I was sloppy. I had a class of Slytherins waiting with me, that boy from Durmstrang, _and_ ... instincts took over, I'd cast _legilimens_ without thinking, and Samantha was just ... well, there, like she should have been, instead of streaming clues to her thoughts."

Gordon grinned to one side, pushed his rolling chair back and spun to the cabinet behind him. He poured a glass from a metal-twined bottle. Another glass and the water bottle floated off as he finished pouring, then he slowly rolled back to his desk. Neville put his wand down as he lifted his drink. The headmaster spoke calmly, "Wand out swift and silent, still got the Auror in ya, don't ya?" He took a sip.

"And, perhaps you, the hunter."

Minutes passed as the two men drank and thought. Gordon licked his lips, "And what do you mean by that?"

"Challenge her. It's a lose-lose proposition for the hunter. If you win, all you did was beat what everyone takes for a little girl. You lose, you look pathetic." Longbottom twirled the glass on its base without looking up.

"What everyone takes for? What are you on about, Neville?" The headmaster turned his chair back and forth slightly while he kept his gaze on the other professor.

Longbottom's eyebrows twitched, "Harry knows, and when Harry knows ... About challenging her."

"You think I couldn't beat her?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. The issue is you wonder what the hunter thinks. It hasn't faced adult criminals and Death-Eaters for near twenty years now, just children, ones _it_ helped train. Not a student trained by people who think if violence isn't the answer you must have asked the wrong question." Neville continued to spin his water as he raised his eyebrows at the headmaster. "And then there's the issue of her ... pedigree."

"Careful 'bout that topic." Gordon scratched his scalp, "So .. the hunter can't win, even if he wins, is that it?"

"Correct." He stopped the glass with his fingertip, "But the professor can. You have to make it a lesson, not to the students, though perhaps to her, but more so to that ... old part of yourself." Gordon looked at him in patient disbelief as Neville continued, "Show it that its retirement is permanent. That a civilized duelist with one hand tied behind his back can show up an axe-wielding barbarian."

"One hand behind my back?"

"Use only what you learned here."

The headmaster was incredulous, "What I learned _here?!_ You know I never had the same DA instructor twice. My seventh year instructor was a complete fraud!"

Longbottom winced and put his palm to his forehead, "Oh, Merlin's beard! I forget you're not that much older. Not Lockhart, but, I mean just ... British-style wand magic. You caught, what, near fifty people by the time you were twenty-one?"

Orinsworth put both hands on his desk and leaned in as he whispered emphatically, "Neville, even when I had help, I cheated, I broke laws, I used muggle weapons, illegally charmed items and ... I wasn't arrested for bein' a choir boy singin' out of tune."

"Quite, yes, but for this, use your wand. No weapons or tattoos, no scripts, no elemental spells. Show that finesse wins out over force. And you ... you'll be able to let go of the notion that you have to make up for the Lockharts or Quirells or Umbridges of our past." The Gryffindor househead finished his drink and stood. He waited for the headmaster's response.

Gordon nodded, accepted that this was a reasonable solution to a problem he had not even known existed. "Did it get any worse after him, after Lockhart? It was like a downhill slide my entire time here. Me and Jorry learned more dueling each other than we ever did in class."

Longbottom shrugged, "Oh, year after you left was Remus Lupin, he was brilliant, then, ha, well, was Alastor Moody, or so we thought. Harry and Hermione, all of us trained by those lessons after that."

The headmaster rubbed his face in thought, "Yeah, wasn't 'til halfway through my first year as professor that McGonagall told me that it was Lupin's lesson plans she'd given me." The two men smiled weakly when Gordon raised his eyes. "The girl can shift forms on the fly. She stood up to Carlin."

Neville patted Gordon on the shoulder, "There you go, she's worth the effort."

Chapter 19 Act Your Age

Sam

The alarm shook the cellphone across the bedside table. Sam slapped about to stop it. She was mildly shocked that she had, at some point, fallen asleep. It was early, and dawn lit the exterior scenes of the grounds, the nearly-full moon retreating. Hagrid worked to put collars on a three-headed dog.

Sam quickly donned her choker ( _her_ collar!). It was dry after the evening's shower. Regardless of what Miss Skein said, Sam worried the satin strip would take on a life of its own if it wasn't cleaned regularly. She wished she didn't want to wear it. The pills were still out on the bathroom counter. As she cleaned up and dressed, she kept glancing at the white-capped, orange bottle.

She told herself she hadn't decided yet. Except there was no other reason to wake up an hour early.

It wasn't ADHD. She could pay attention, or not, and still remember almost everything the teachers said. It was more trouble to recall the easy stuff than the difficult concepts anyways, because easy stuff wasn't interesting. Her problem wasn't a mental issue or anything. She jammed the top open, tilted out one black/maroon capsule. Her eyes teared before she'd even popped the medicine in her mouth. The water from the faucet was unnaturally cool as she drank. Sam looked in the mirror and wiped her cheeks, "Stupid cry-baby!"

The directions were to engage her mind while the medication took effect. When she was little, that would be flash cards of letters and words, then math problems, historical dates and names. The drug's emotional expression suppressing side-effects were unavoiable, but her mother had figured out the impulse and memory issues could be averted by using the cards, by keeping her mind on track. Sam didn't want to wait for the pills to stop her crying, so she concentrated on why she'd made her decision. The medicine didn't help her. It helped everyone else. She closed the bottle and quietly recited the nations and capitals of Europe as she paced between the beds.

Scorpius

The banging started as Scorpius brushed his teeth. Albus, not concerned with his morning hygiene, opened the door. Malfoy spat out the foam of toothpaste and wiped his mouth, "Who is it?" There was more banging, further down the hall.

Al stood before an empty doorway, "Dunno." Indeed, whoever it was had moved on to the American's door. Potter leaned out.

A sharp, feminine voice cut the dull echo of the harsh knocking, "You strike that door and I will deliver unto you torment as heretofore you had not dared imagine." Whatever Samantha strove for in biting tone, the woman with her was an accomplished master.

The response was a bit anxious (and male), "Apologies, ma'am. Thought each of them had their own room." A light creak signalled another door opening in the short hall. "Morning, miss."

Samantha responded, "Good morning, sir."

Scorpius steeled himself. She started out pleasant enough, but it would not last. He rinsed his face and donned his robe. Al dressed as well, but managed to still appear asleep.

"Boys!" The voice was Dietrich O'Donnell, the Ravenclaw headstudent. Tomorrow would be Stansfield. _Would she keep quiet on what she knew of the plan?_ O'Donnell had a thin face with pointed cheekbones. Scorpius found himself comparing the young man to Malcolm Buddock, an associate of his father's. However, Dietrich had clear skin, his hair was quite short, and, at least presently, he wasn't smoking. "C'mon. Smarten up there, Potter." Albus continued to move slowly. Scorpius wondered if there wasn't more to his idea of Albus and the doorknob routine, or if something else prevented Al from rousing completely.

The four of them followed O'Donnell to the Great Hall. Miss Skein stayed by the entrance doors as the young trio went with the headstudent and sat at the front end of the Ravenclaw table. It was earlier than the past two days and few people were at breakfast yet. "Well, this will change up seating ... for a day." The boy was tense. "The entire situation ... changes a great deal. I'll be glad to see it all sorted out." Scorpius agreed wholeheartedly, but kept it to himself. "Ha, 'sorted out'! Normally, if any of you were, or I guess if you _are_ sorted to Ravenclaw we would assign an older student to mentor you, someone in their fourth year, as class sizes permit, eighteen a house this year, and twenty in fourth. So, they have two to spare, same thing as when they were firsters." No food had appeared yet.

The Chinese student, Xiau, sat down across from Scorpius, followed by a sickly pale, hunched over girl (across from Albus) and finally the Caribbean girl (across from the American). The ill-looking girl sniffled and addressed the headstudent, "Dietrich, shower issue ... _resolved._ "

The younger Ravenclaw exchange spoke up quickly, "The letters are mixed. I will manage eet." The bells rang, loudly. The three young delays were startled by the increased volume in the great hall. Scorpius winced at the noise, while Albus nearly jumped from his seat.

Samantha glanced about the ceiling for the source of the clanging. The smell of the arrived food brought her attention to the table. In the brief quiet following the end of the chime, Scorpius could hear her subdued words, "Violation of Gamp's theory..." She continued in a mumble as she traced her hand around the plate.

Fontaine's eyes widened and she was disturbed, "What are you doing? Keep your demon trafficking from me!"

This drew everyone's attention to Witherspoon's activity. Silver script glowed in a circle where she had touched the table. Her face was calm. She was slightly surprised by the sudden focus on her, "What?" Samantha produced a vial from her coat pocket.

"No! _Non!_ None of your warlock practices shall corrupt me!" The Haitian girl grasped a crucifix necklace from within her robes and chanted in what sounded like Latin.

Witherspoon uncapped the vial and tipped out a silver-black drop on the ring. Her food flickered out and back with a small glint as the circle disappeared. "Automatic teleport." She turned to O'Donnell who was cautiously curious, "Where's the balance? What are the limits?" The other houses' first and second years entered the hall.

Fontaine broke her mantra to exclaim, "You would risk your soul- _OUR souls_ to test the kitchen tables?!"

Without any expression of emotion herself, Samantha faced the upset girl, "So, matching attuned objects." Then back to O'Donnell, "What stops incidental transit?"

Samantha's new adversary lashed out, "You Americans! You insert yourselves where you are not wanted! Or too late, and leave what you find worse than before!"

Somehow, what had started as a two-sided confrontation expanded. The older girl beside Fontaine spoke harshly, "Is it that hard to figure out blue and red? I mean, I understand now that the 'C' and 'H' are reversed in French and Spanish, but blue for cold and red for hot are pretty much universal."

O'Donnell jumped to quell the spread of hostility, "Janice! Don't -"

That same girl (apprently named Janice) turned and answered swiftly, "C'mon Dieter, blue and red, really?"

Xiau spoke delicately, "Cultural meanings of colors can be quite varied." The Chinese chaperone was absent, yet her charge maintained her manners.

Scorpius watched in concern as only he and Albus remained quiet. Dietrich ignored Xiau's comment and continued at the ill-looking Ravenclaw, "The point of the exchange -"

But he was cut off by Fontaine, "Of course, le petite slave girl is too stupeed to note colors when of course she cannot read, is dat eet? I also don't risk dee Devil's eye at dinner!"

Samantha drank down a bite of food and chimed in, "It's breakfast, and, officially, your slavery ended with Haitian independence in 1804."

The Chinese girl continued, "Western cultures associate red with passion and danger."

Janice was not cowed, "She acts like she's the Grand Grey Lady of the Bahamas."

Fontaine slammed her palms on the table and turned on her supposed mentor, "THE BAHAMAS! If I were to mistake your precious island empire for - for - Denmark -"

Xiau's tension rose, "While eastern society sees red as a sign of luck. In magic, it aids in summoning."

Dietrich was panicked, "Janice. We're to act as hosts!"

Janice, irate, "Hosts! Not house elves! I don't have time to fix things that aren't broken. I've nine OWLs this year and -"

Fontaine, indignant, "Self-centered conquerors!"

Xiau, with an edge of fear, "Blue is everlasting in _Zhong Guo_ but is often associated with sorrow in European influence."

The Ravenclaw headstudent gripped the table on both sides, pushing Scorpius to lean back. O'Donnell was exasperated. He nearly yelled through clenched teeth, "Enough! Miss Huang, thank you for the information on color interpretation. Miss Hartpence, thank you for rising so early, we will discuss this at lunch. Miss DuBois, thank you for your understanding, our ways may be a challenge at times. Miss Witherspoon, what ... was your question?"

Samantha spoke through her food as she chewed, "How do the tables keep hands and tools from being transported with the food and dishes?"

O'Donnell raised his eyebrows high and his eyes went wide, in a single rushed breath he responded, "Only what is in contact with the serving place is summoned. Living tissue is filtered out. So, no pieces of kitchen staff from downstairs. Mister Malfoy? Mister Potter?" He turned to the boys, still desperate. Only then did Scorpius see that Albus had kept quiet by stuffing his mouth full of food, but now he was close to choking on his laughter.

Albus tried to utter his question, "Do you - do - do you know - ah, know Luna Scamander?"

Dietrich relaxed slightly, "No. I saw her in Diagon Alley once, but my father is a muggle and my mother is Deut- isn't from Great Britain." He startled at a hand on his shoulder. Al almost spilled his milk as he coughed and held his nose.

Wamble had walked up quietly, and, like Albus, had worked to calm his amusement, "Ah, you are quite fortunate today, mein Freund."

Samantha blandly suggested to Al, "You should have asked him how magnets work."

It was difficult to tell if the conflict, so early in the day, would bode well (it couldn't become much worse) or was an omen of doom (it was just a warm-up). The hall assumed its usual noisiness while those at the head of the Ravenclaw table remained serene in contrast.

Leaving ahead of the other houses, the transition from mealtime to class time was without incident. Not that there was no activity. Several Ravenclaw students practiced their wand form, only, without their wands out. Some muttered the levitation incantation. One potential issue resolved itself in the best way Malfoy could imagine: he and Potter (and DuBois) kept their distance from Witherspoon.

Scorpius sat towards the back of the Charms class again, Al beside him. It was not out of habit for Malfoy (this was only his second time in this room) as much as it was out of a desire for habit. He should have sat up front in every class, but he was often at the rear of the group and had to pick from what seats were left. Where Samantha had seated herself between them on Monday, Fontaine was now there. Samantha, instead, sat up front beside Xiau. Scorpius thought for a moment that no two people there were more unalike than that pair. Xiau wasn't even being shadowed by an adult today. Then again ... neither was Witherspoon.

The bell rang for class to start. The typical rustling of books and papers was absent. There were no whispers or comments for nearly a minute. One of the Ravenclaw first years broke the hush, "Maybe he's done another invisibility charm." The words had the tone of a question, and, indeed, he looked to the eldest student expectantly. Scorpius acknowledged that the Ravenclaw students were better behaved (so far at least) than either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, but it seemed unlikely they had moved on to an advanced charm like invisibility by their second day.

Miss Huang gave a curt nod, "No. I do not think such. We will be patient."

The practice of motions and enunciation were subdued and hesitant. Albus grudgingly went along with the polite efforts, as well. Scorpius resigned himself to the same when the classroom door slammed open and startled everyone.

"PUT THE FEATHER DOWN, MISS WITHERSPOON! WE HAVE YOUR AMERICAN CUSTODIAN ON THE WAY TO TRANSLATE. WE'RE WILLING TO NEGOTIATE!" The entire class watched as Professor Thomas mockingly held his wand at the ready and walked at a crouch into the class, "Potter, Burkes, back away, don't let her see fear." The class was hesitant to react to the professor's odd behavior. Thomas moved to the front of the class. Before her, but with his hand splayed over his face as he stood and spoke to Witherspoon, "I'm alive. I _know_ that was your first concern." He took his hand away and wiggled his nose. "Great thing about having a healer on the premises." Scorpius assumed that few of the Ravenclaws would even know what the instructor referred to, however, many of them began to whisper and giggle. "Right, serious time, do you have a wand?"

Scorpius couldn't see her face, but Samantha sounded neither offended nor amused, just ... plain, "No, sir."

"Have you ever used a wand?"

"Once, Sean Finnegan was thrown over the table."

"Not what I meant, but, would you be willing to try again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, that might be the first step. What you did was magic, but our primary issue is control. Making happen only what you _want_ to happen. I didn't interact much with the wizard community when I worked in the States, so I can't really say how to adjust from what you did. I could teach you _our_ alien methods."

"Yes, sir." Samantha reached into her backpack and hefted the metal rod onto the desk, "I have this."

Professor Thomas responded with raised eyebrows and an amused grin, "Of course, I'll be careful."

Xiau turned to her American junior and blinked several times, "Iron can be ... difficult to attune for channelling."

Samantha looked up at the older student, her face calm, "Oh."

Thomas moved on to his instruction as he produced a leather sack of feathers from his desk chair, "Those of you who did well before, I want to move on to controlling _how_ the feather moves: rotate, revolve, roll." He walked in front of the desks. The feathers he handed out were not plain white as before. Their tips were black, and, as Scorpius saw students turn them over and back in their hands, were colored along their stem: green on one side, and red on the other. "These color charms should help with which side is which. They aren't quite perfectly even, you have your third year housemates to blame if the colors fade ... or ..." Laughter came from one corner of the class, as Switch, who was now crimson red, threw his feather down in disgust. "Looks like Bones will be receiving an 'outstanding' on his colour trap."

With the professor there, the Charms class was abuzz with conversation and activity. Physically though, the Ravenclaws were much more ordered than the Gryffindors had been, if not as successful. The students grouped into threes, a student capable of the charm demonstrated for two others (half the Gryffindors had accomplished the spell). The professor moved about the groups and made small corrections or explained the mechanics in different terms. He still entertained, using a chair with a seated student to illustrate the difference between rotate (to spin in place) and revolve (going in circles around something else) and earned a great deal of laughter at offering to illustrate roll. Without thinking about it, Malfoy found himself much more relaxed. Potter managed to repeat the basic charm, but his feather would droop after a few seconds of flight. Scorpius wanted to correct the quirk, but restrained himself.

We was distracted from this (minor) annoyance by the Haitian girl, "How dyu keep eet fly'ng so suavely?"

Scorpius was slightly taken aback. He had not expected her to address him, and had difficulty understanding what she had said, "How do you mean?" He laid his wand hand down and the feather followed suit about twenty centimeters away.

"Like dat. Look. _Wingardum leviosah_." Her pale grey wand wobbled in her grasp as it moved. The feather flitted away. "It does not move smoothly. And ..." When she started to speak, the feather fell in gentle swoops. "Da China girl says ma wand's liqueed center is poor for this kind of magic, and why eet flies uneasy, but not why it drops de moment I do anyt'ing else." Scorpius thought at first it was easier to understand Fontaine when he was already paying attention. As she spoke, though, it seemed that she tried with increasing success to suppress her accent.

The idea of a liquid center wand intrigued Malfoy, "Well, what's the, mine is made of cherry wood and dragon's heartstring. If you don't mind, what is your wand made of?"

Fontaine smiled broadly, her teeth gleamed white in contrast to her dark skin, "If I don' mind? So pohlite. Cherry you say? Mine's cockatreece blood ... en cherry palm. Shiau says it's good for healing, changing t'ings, for die-rectin' da visions. The body ees too rigid for thees though, the core not balanced."

Her cheerful expression was a far cry from the heated outbursts at breakfast. That thought only made Scorpius more anxious. Whatever it was she didn't like about Samantha, he did not want to cause a similar reaction. "I'm not sure. I don't know much about wands. I think about the feather, and it goes where I point. Even if I do something else, I keep my mind, _part_ of my mind, on it." He found himself smiling without thinking to. He drew in his lips to stop it and felt his face grow hot instead. Fontaine turned back to face front but quickly glanced back to him, grinning as she rested her cheek in her hand.

The three of them practiced together. Al made stellar progress when it came to steering his target in flight. The feather started to move as if it were a bird itself. Scorpius maintained his exact and rather mechanical control. It felt inadequate to not improve as Albus did.

Helping Miss DuBois was a little troublesome. Her pronunciation improved with her own effort, but Scorpius could not describe the motion well enough, and had to put his hand around hers to demonstrate. The room was already incredibly hot and it was difficult to breath. Fontaine's cheeks seemed redder, but that could have been from the change in temperature.

Alchemy continued to fall short of Scorpius' hopes. As much as he liked the idea of the subject, the practice was incredibly dull. Madam Tomlinson was not to fault. She managed to be attentive and professional even as she instructed the students on the simple methods of how to handle and store various types of materials. Next in Malfoy's mind was the disappointment at Ravenclaw. They were not already exceptionally bright. Certainly, they acted better for class if not always (the trip from Charms to the dungeon was punctuated by inappropriate comparisons of bodily fluids and potion components). Professor Longbottom had advised them that the sorting was based on potential, rather than _current_ behavior. Most everyone would be in Hufflepuff otherwise. Finally, and perhaps worst of all about Alchemy, was the four chairs to a table. Albus was certainly welcome. It would have been embarrassing to invite Fontaine to sit with them (yet even worse if she sat somewhere else), and proved unnecessary, as she gestured for them to sit with her. However, Samantha went to the same table.

Witherspoon absentmindedly climbed into the high chair next to Potter. He smiled weakly when she noticed him. She glanced at DuBois beside him, and Malfoy next to her. Samantha herself almost saved them from her presence. She was still remarkably calm, "There are other seats."

Before she could set her foot to climb down the stool, Albus put his hand on her wrist to stop her. "No, it'll be ..." He shifted to look at Scorpius who expressed obvious disappointment. Al nodded and widened his eyes as if to enforce his argument, "It'll be fine." Scorpius reacted much as his father had often done with Grandmother Malfoy: resigned acceptance. DuBois grumbled, likewise none-too-pleased with the situation.

Except ... Witherspoon wasn't being erratic (today). At worse she had cast a spell to determine how the tables in the Great Hall worked (a valid inquiry). She had spoken like an adult, something Albus had already noted (complimented?) Scorpius and Rose for, as well. She had caused problems before, though. Yet, at that moment, the worst she did was mumble as Madam Tomlinson emerged from her office. Scorpius could barely make out the American, "Netherlands, Amsterdam, not the Hague, Belgium, Brussels, Luxemburg, pbbbt."

Al snickered for just a moment before the professor spoke, "Show some patience today, as our lessons must progress based on what someone may _not_ know rather than what others have already learned."

One thing about Alchemy certainly did NOT bother Scorpius, the order Madam Tomlinson established in her class. Her instructions were logical and clear. A student from each table approached the instruction counter one at a time. They retrieved a tray of bowls for the first part of the day's lesson: purple powdered sugar, yellow chalk, green sugar cubes, and red sand. She had them learn the correct methods of crushing solid materials (slow circles from the edge to the center), measuring out the materials (scoop _from_ the container), and how to add them to a new container (hold the scoop low and turn it over evenly, _no_ dumping). When it appeared everyone had followed her direction, it was the professor that demonstrated the result of not doing so. She used levitation to pour (and spill) the sugar into a cup on the counter, then drop the poured contents into her cauldron, a cloud of purple powder billowed up beside her, "And, you can see what might happen from this reaction: loss of material, potential inhalation, and possibly worse effects if this were a hazardous ingredient. We follow these guidelines, unless specified otherwise." And, rather inconsequential, he liked her voice (just a hint of Scottish).

The methods of mixing were very familiar to Scorpius. He was certain he used these techniques with his father in the laboratory, and must have learned them there. Until the professor made a comparison to cooking. Perhaps Draco had taken these considerations for granted, and it was Mrs Malfoy who had explained the concepts to her son. But then, Mr Malfoy also cooked at home.

The next instruction was on mixing liquids and semi-solids. Again, some were dyed unnatural hues (orange butter and blue honey, with typically clear water and white milk). After the dye trapped feather in Charms, none of the students were willing to sample the lesson materials. Though his robes had faded to maroon, Torrent Switch himself was still bright red.

Separate spatulas were required to remove the honey or butter (in case they were items that would react on contact outside the cauldron) from their respective containers. Professor Tomlinson tapped her desk to gather the class's attention, "Now. Take the water you have as if it were an acid, and the milk as it is, which would you add to your cauldron first?" Scorpius' mother had gone over this and as he thought of the answer ... someone else was called on, "Yes, Miss Witherspoon."

Samantha's expression and tone remained tranquil, "The milk first. The more hazardous liquid should be added to the less hazardous liquid. What's in the container will be displaced by what's added."

"Very good, ten points to your house of choice."

Under her breath Samantha let out, "Gloucester Acres."

Professor Tomlinson instructed the class to pour their milk first and then add the "dangerous" water. The reasoning behind this became clear, the small spatters of milk were obvious on the robes and dark tables of those that poured carelessly. Fontaine spoke up just enough for those at her table, "I would not t'ink you'd add an acid to milk. My mutha says it causes a react-shawn."

Focused on the pouring, Samantha responded calmly, "Is your mother a potion maker?"

DuBois's head rose as her neck stiffened. It appeared to be her equivalent to Witherspoon's head tilt, "No, she is-"

"Is she a chemist?" Samantha finished without even a minor splash.

"Non! She-"

Samantha wasn't upset, and spoke as if her comment was obvious, "Then it doesn't matter. It's not really acid."

Fontaine fumed as she worked up to her retaliation. Scorpius could not stand the potential attention from the others, though. He reached his hand over DuBois's clenched fist. She shifted her glare to him and relented at his silent plea. She relaxed her hand and shook her head at Malfoy. She spoke with an edge of defeat, "You are dis blue-eyed devil I am warned about." Fontaine smiled and her voice warmed, "No myst'ry we give up our souls." Scorpius withdrew his hand, quickly, but not too quickly, in doubt he should have withdrawn it at all. His collar had tightened and like the Charm's class, this room had also become unusually warm.

Between instructions from the professor, Samantha muttered, "Germany, Berlin; Czech, Prague; Poland, Warsaw."

Albus

No one had ever even discussed going to Ravenclaw (Luna Scamander and Athene Shacklebolt weren't family, so they didn't count). Then again, they hadn't discussed Hufflepuff either (Hannah Longbottom fell under the same rule). It was as if the entire situation revolved around Gyrffindor and Slytherin (and he really, _really,_ did not know anyone from Slytherin). Al had refused even the notion that he'd go to Slytherin when they were at King's Cross. Was that because of James' teasing, or had their father's reassurances changed that?

Samantha acted different today. Al wasn't sure what that meant, or if it meant anything. He'd never met anyone like her. Maybe Scorpius was right in his disapproval of her. _No._ That wasn't the case. Even if the hat had not said as much, Al knew there was something more to Sam.

O'Donnell stopped the group short of the History class door. He examined a small piece of paper, "All right, Professor Binns is already lecturing on the doppelganger infestation of the Holy Roman Empire. It's a fourth year class. Ignore him. Read chapter one on the establishment of British wizarding society." The younger students accepted the orders with mild concern. Their headstudent had just ordered them to ignore a professor. Albus knew why. He was glad the Gryffindors had not received such a warning (then again, Binns had apparently been on schedule for them), as the class was much more entertaining with the ghost's reactions.

A loud voice came from behind them, "Mis-ter O'Donnell." Al startled at the seeming command. Professor Stalvan might have well included "you're under arrest". "Malfoy, Potter, and Witherspoon have already attended this ... allotted period of time."

The three "delays" hesitated as the others entered the room. The Ravenclaw headstudent forced a face of indifference, "And, sir? They're to attend with our house today."

Stalvan narrowed his eyes. He looked O'Donnell up and down quickly before his rapid fire response, "I teach you to question accepted methods and supposed facts. While you may interpret that as extending to authority, I would advise that be expressed in questioning the legitimacy of said authority. Do you accept that I am a legitimate authority within the confines of this Institute?"

The older boy lost his nerve. He rocked back and forth a bit as he spoke, "Sir, I just, if I _had_ just let them go you would have challenged me on _that."_

Stalvan stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout, "And you put me in the place of the weaker argument, your last year, one point Ravenclaw. Now," to the three younger students he made a single wave towards himself, "with me."

It was difficult to keep up with the Transfiguration professor. He led them downstairs. The horseshoe turns past Alchemy turned out to surround the Slytherin househead residence. Al had expected something grander, bigger. The room was tidy, but cramped.

The professor gestured to the seats, but remained standing himself. He spoke deliberately, "You will accompany Slytherin first years on their schedule of classes and grounds work tomorrow. You will not dine with the house. You will not be afforded access to the common room." Al was still trying to adjust in the high-backed chair. "This is no reflection on you, but rather to protect your ... reflections." That didn't make much sense. Sam was still blank faced as she had been all morning. On Al's other side, Scorpius' lips were pursed as he concentrated. "What you face in Slytherin, as I stated on your arrival here, is to be judged. Hogwarts graduates from other houses see Slytherins as those most likely to threaten them, their families, their way of life. And while this lot sees potential villains, older Slytherin alumni will judge newcomers as weaker, unworthy pretenders to their legacy. Less Riddle, more Slughorn, as if that would mean anything to you."

Comments from family and friends agreed on these lines. Saying someone was from Slytherin was often the only explanation needed for distrusting that person. _But what riddle, and did he mean the spiny slugs Hagrid had shown them?_ Albus thought to ask out loud, but couldn't bring himself to do so.

Scorpius was more determined, "Will we have a say in our sorting, sir?" He was anxious for the reply, his knuckles white as he clenched the strap of his book bag.

The Slytherin househead relaxed, barely, in answering, "You will be informed on the method of your sorting by Friday morning." The professor's question came forced, "Did you have any other questions?" Neither boy felt up to speaking what was on his mind. Neville was right: they were too young.

Samantha pulled the metal rod from her backpack, "Iron is difficult to attune for channeling. I borrowed China-girl's wand. That didn't work either."

Al caught the telltale tightening of Stalvan's lips and jaw. He had nearly reacted to Sam's bizarre timing and ludicrously calm manner. Recovered from the near lapse, the professor answered sincerely, "Quite. However, such instruments will only be an issue in Charms, a soft subject for someone as talented as you."

Sam did not react except to say, "Feathers are soft." Al clapped his hand to his mouth to stop from laughing, but could not suppress a nasal giggle. Scorpius and Stalvan had better control.

The professor pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, "Right. To your guest rooms or the Great Hall. No one should be forced to suffer the off-topic lectures of Cuthbert Binns."

Chapter 20 Observations

Scorpius

Albus was the last to enter, he should have closed the door. As if that might close out everything that had come to mind with Professor Stalvan's speech. Potter threw his book bag on a chair and leapt into his bed facedown. Scorpius stepped back to the entrance, measured the pressure so as not to slam the door (as he might), and breathed out, "He's right." Malfoy sat down and withdrew his Creatures book. Al's dozing afforded Scorpius some manner of solitude.

After several minutes, Potter made a noise, muffled by the bed he laid upon, "Whu?"

Scorpius took his illustration from the creatures book and proceeded to draw in an attempt to focus on something else, anything else.

Al raised his head from the covers, "What?"

Malfoy looked up, confused as to his roommate's inquiry, "What do you mean?"

Potter was insistent, "Yeah, what - do - you - mean?"

"I have no idea."

Al sat up, turned his legs over the side of the bed and gripped the edge, "You said 'he's right', I said 'what', like twice, and you corrected me, like, 'what do you mean', not just 'what', but what did you mean 'he's right'?"

Scorpius concealed his drawing, "I said that?"

Al's eyes widened in exasperation as his head sunk forward.

"Right, so, I said that ... aloud." Scorpius held the book tightly. He looked away to help order his thoughts. "Why should we be friends?"

"Well, I ..."

Scorpius' temper rose quickly, "No. _You_ are Harry Potter's son. _I_ am Draco Malfoy's son. No one is going to accept us being ... friends." He still couldn't bear to look Albus in the eyes.

Al wasn't upset in the least though, "Dad would. You know, you and Sam ... I don't think that first impression thing is fair."

Malfoy (and his tension) was confused by the detour of thought, "She is ... strange, there's no way of telling if she is going to - **what** she is going to do! You'd be better off staying away from her, too."

Potter relaxed against the wall, threatening to slide off his bed, "That's what she said. You know, Luna's strange, but Aunt Herm likes her. _Mum_ likes her and Mum's, like, _ultra-_ normal. We have dinner with her and Newt, their kids, all the time, though."

It was difficult to believe, "All the time?"

"Once a month. Usually." Al smiled as if "all the time" and "once a month" were one and the same.

Rather than argue the discrepancy, Scorpius said what he had originally thought, "You're changing the subject. Professor Stalvan is right about House Slytherin. And it's ... about us, too, about Malfoys. We shouldn't be friends. People will judge you for it. Almost as bad as if you went to Slytherin."

Albus slumped and sighed. He didn't fight it. Scorpius felt relieved. It had been very unpleasant to tell Al they couldn't be friends. He wished he had never entertained the idea in the first place. To have that accepted, to be right, made up for (some of) the disappointment. Al sighed again, "Then I guess I'll just have to ask for Slytherin."

Scorpius jumped up and turned on Albus. His book, drawing, and pencil scattered across the floor. Malfoy nearly yelled, "NO! Harry Potter's son can **NOT** be in Slytherin!"

Al snapped. He lurched forward and clutched the bedside. His voice was tight and his face reddened, "I'm not 'Harry Potter's son', I'm Albus Severus Potter! And you're not just Draco Malfoy's kid, you're Scorpius Whatever Malfoy." He threw up his arms in exasperation. "Or it's in those books, and you think you know who I am, what I'm supposed to do?"

It was crushing. He had hurt Albus. Scorpius was sick; he could barely keep it down. His response was appropriately weak, "No... I mean ..." He fell to his knees and started to gather his strewn belongings.

Al faced him, his eyes were red at the edges, "Well?!"

He couldn't look at Al. Scorpius remembered how Grandmother had reacted when Draco ended their last argument. He thought of what she had done, he sat back in the chair, "They mention you, as a son, and, and when you were born, but I don't even remember, it wasn't..."

Al calmed with a sniffle and a gasped laugh, " _You_ don't remember?" He wiped at his eyes.

Scorpius gulped and answered in a rush, "Well, December tenth, 2005. But ...oh, you must have people act like this all the time." He held his head in his hands.

Where Malfoy had nearly broken down, Al was quite recovered, "Nope. All I ever get is," he deepened his voice, "'You gonna play Quidditch or be an Auror when you grow up?'" He continued in his own voice, "Only, it's not even a for real question. It's like ... those are my choices. That's it."

Scorpius tried to compose himself. He hated this display, and wanted it to end, "And?"

Al sounded defeated, "I really like Quidditch, but I don't know if I'm really any good at it. What about you?"

The conversation had exhausted Scorpius, "No, I don't really like sports."

Al jumped off the bed and gave a grunt, only, it was in his usual manner again, "Ahg! No, not Quidditch, what do people say to you like that? Your parents' friends and stuff. The professors all know you're gonna know the answer to _everything."_

"Some of them ... know Father, and assume I'll be as clever. And, Mother and Father don't have friends so, well, there's Mister Buddock and Pritchard, but they work for Father, and I guess we've been to Mister Zabini's." It would not help Scorpius' argument to mention the Lafayettes (especially to someone whose father was the Chief Auror). It also didn't help Scorpius' own internal conflict: the Malfoys had more friends than he had thought.

Al's recognition was surprising, "Wait! The guy with that night club? The muggle/wizard place?"

Realising this was an obvious error, Scorpius corrected as diplomatically as he could, "No, no! His flat, not ... not the Pendragon." Blaise Zabini's strict policies certainly did not include admitting children to his business.

"But you _do_ know him!"

It wouldn't do to counter that Albus knew his own father. "You know the Minister of Magic!"

Al yawned, let his breath out slowly, "OK, we're even there. But what do they say about you?"

Scorpius didn't want to say, but felt he had to, "'He's sharp', 'got your father's smarts', 'got your mother's looks', 'so well-mannerred'." Malfoy was quick to defend and apologise, "But that's not, I mean, Mother says Father is quite handsome, but she's rather partial, and she has brown eyes and Father's are grey, but mine are blue, so we don't even have that in common. And Mother graduated from Imperial University, she's quite intelligent, too. Father only attended the one year."

Al cheered visibly, though he looked tired, "Me and Dad got the same eyes. He says Granma Potter did, too. Ha, bet you like dark eyes though, don't ya?" He scooted back onto the bed and stretched out on the covers.

Scorpius stood up. Though he'd recovered considerably, he hoped they wouldn't continue to converse in this manner. "What do you mean by that?" Did that assume they'd ever converse again?

Alarm clock in hand, Albus did not look back, "You like Fontaine, right? 'Blue-eyed devil'." He snorted a laugh.

Albus had noticed. Others must have, too. Though, only in hearing it did Scorpius think about it that way, "Are you going to mock me about it?"

"Nope. She is kinda pretty. I never really thought about dark girls as good looking."

Scorpius stood beside Al's head, "What? But, you've an aunt and cousins ..."

Al's eyes were barely open. He scrunched up his face in feigned disgust, "Eww, they're family! But ... Aunt Fleur ... Ron and George say she isn't really blood, so ..."

Not quite catching onto the playful teasing, Scorpius took a stand, "That is _not_ what I mean! I mean you've people of other races in your family. You shouldn't say, shouldn't _think_ such things."

His roommate took the bedspread and rolled himself into it. Albus answered groggily, "I don't mean races-like. I mean diffr'n people look better wit' diffr'n stuff. Chiau and Sam look good wit' long, black hair, and their eyes are like black, too, but Vicky'd look really off like that. Black girls have really curly hair and they cut it different like Fontaine's is real short, looks nice. Rox straightens hers, looks weird. I don't know. I'm tired."

It was probably the most thought out thing Scorpius had heard Al say. Yet it still didn't sit right with him. But Al's slight snoring, even if faked, signalled the end of the conversation.

A half-hour later, only minutes before lunch, the clock rang. Al smacked it off, jumped up, and darted out the room, "See'ya'at'lunch. Gonna catch Sam."

Sam

The boys went to their room. Sam urged herself to stay away from them. Miss Skein would be down that hall, too. As long as Sam was on her prescription, no one had to worry about her "issues". The government could rely on the effects of her medicine once she used it, they just couldn't rely on her taking it in the first place. But none of that was on her mind. She sat at the Ravenclaw table and read everything in the _Book of Spells_ they had covered. She did the same for Alchemy. It was nearly time for lunch.

Albus sat down across from her, "Hey."

She wondered what he wanted from her. Unfortunately, she'd slacked on her thought exercises and her brain-to-mouth-filter similarly lapsed, "What do you want from me?" The only saving grace was that she did little to express embarrassment, or any other "accidental" emotion, in her state.

Albus was slightly shocked, "Wow. I don't know. It's school, we're new here. All of us, the three of us, are, you know, delayed. And we all came here together. Merlin ... I just got done with this with Scorp." He waited awhile, perhaps to muster the courage, or to work out the phrasing, "We could be friends," he went on in an obvious tease, "Is that the same word in American?"

It was a painful subject, something Sam would normally avoid. "I liked Becky, but she ..." She had already thought about this, she could cut it off, "I had to go to a different school." The dulled emotions saved her from tearing up at the memory.

Al barely nodded, "Yeah. I don't think I'm ever gonna see Tyler or Brad or any of the other kids from Hearthholme again. I lied and said Dad's job was moving us." He shrugged it off, then shut his eyes tight, "Lily still goes there." He slapped his forehead and palmed his face at the thought.

It was difficult for Sam to control what she said. She hadn't gone through the side-effects for months. "You want to be friends? People don't like me. Scorpius doesn't like me." That was self-pity. She hated that. Any other day and she wouldn't have admited it.

He raised his eyebrows. "At least you know it." He narrowed his eyes, leaned forward and whispered as if someone might overhear (none of the few people in the Great Hall were near them), "I know waaay too many people that get talked about behind their backs, then everyone is all nice to their face." He rolled his eyes at the thought of it. "Family even!" he added as if that would be more difficult to believe.

His eyes: she fought it back to no avail, "You have pretty eyes." He sat back, a bit surprised at the (sudden) compliment. And as if Sam didn't think she had said enough, "You're cute." The bell rang. The noise of students flooding the hall drowned out anything else. Sam knew she couldn't grab a gateway out from Hogwarts. Maybe she could call a cab, or get back on the train. She wanted to get away before Al could tell anyone what she had said, before they could laugh at her.

Scorpius sat down beside Al. He glanced deliberately at each of them. "So?"

Albus smiled and clapped his hand on Scorpius' shoulder, "One thing you agree on, neither of you think I should like you."

Albus

Lunch went well enough. Albus wished he had more time, well, more privacy to ask Samantha, well, **more.** And, maybe, it would have been the right thing to return the compliments. Looking at her, he could hardly fault Scorpius liking dark eyes. Fontaine's arrival was easy to notice. She lectured a first year about international conspiracies and disrupting the History professor. Though it would have been funny to hear what new detour the ghost had taken, she was too wrapped up in her "conversation" (speech) and sat further along the table. Al was pretty certain she would have sat with Scorpius otherwise.

The first years, exchanges, and delays were gathered up before the meal ended. O'Donnell was in a hurry to leave them at their next class. Alchemy, Charms, History, Creatures, Transfiguration, Defense, Muggles, Herbology, the list was already ridiculously long. ALL those books, NO broomstick. Albus would have to ride the school brooms ( _ugh_ ). Dad talked about having a Nimbus 2000 his first years at Hogwarts (as if Nimbus had put out anything good besides the NX2) and later had a Firebolt (which must have been very fun to pick and preen after every flight, _bleh!_ ) But Al could not bring his Cleansweep 16XS as he hadn't taken his flight test yet. Not that he could use his own broom for Quidditch anyways, all teams had to ride the school brooms (14STs - which DID have a lot of custom options, but were thick as logs: slow, bulky, _maybe_ more durable). Still, perhaps flight class with a vampire would be interesting. That would be a lot of flying wooden stakes.

The semi-circle of descending stone benches had no brooms. Al sunk in expectation of a lecture ... on flying!

The Ravenclaw headstudent clarified the situation, and made things even worse, "Look, Xiau, Firenze prefers the kids DO wander about until he gets here, but no one goes beyond the theatre. He might appreciate curiousity in Divination, but we gotta leave with what we came." It wasn't time for Flying. This was yet another book class. Hearthholme had English and Math, and History and Science, and Computers and Sports. Albus had only ever done better than average at the last two. Hogwarts did _not_ have a computer course.

The Chinese girl gave a halfhearted smile, "Of course, but should we not accustom the younger ones to a consistent regimen." She wasn't very confident. Maybe because that adult wasn't with her anymore. Hadn't Samantha had someone with her, too?

O'Donnell was rushed, "Uh, Firenze isn't like that. Just ... whatever, you're in charge 'til he shows." He hustled off, back to the castle.

At Dietrich's departure, the Ravenclaws were torn whether to follow what their headstudent had said, or what their eldest exchange student might choose to enforce. Xiau sat in the center of the front row, straight and formal. She could observe those to her left and right, and made as if to clear her throat whenever a student threatened to give in to his or her curiosity. Those that lingered behind made an unspoken compromise by inspecting the area in quiet.

Albus absently sat on the far left, well within view of their foreign babysitter. Both Scorpius and Al turned at a high-pitched squeal. Al recognised Rose's girlish giggle from the approaching group, "Oh no, Sean, what did she say?"

"You'll have to excuse my mate, he's a little hoarse." Several others groaned and laughed at the apparent punchline.

His cousin was clearly amused, despite her protest, "Sean, no! No centaur jokes _now-_ Albus!"

Al's thoughts lingered on the subject, and he imagined commenting on how Rose "pranced" up to him. Then, she ruined the image when she lost her balance as she sat, and ended up shoving Al to the side. Scorpius was forced up against Fontaine, which she did not seem to mind judging by her smile. Xiau minded, but her subtle corrections were lost in the on-rush of Gryffindor first years.

"Guess what I found out!" Rose declared before she had recovered her balance, "Guess what house someone tried to transfer to before your delay."

Al wasn't sure what his cousin meant, "Someone tried to transfer already?" The conversations picked up around them adding to the difficulty in understanding.

Rose was impatient, "Not this year, no, I heard it was forever ago. And ..."

The subject came back to him, "Oh! That guy, he left..." Al considered his company and lowered his voice, "Where did he leave?"

She nodded as she bobbed her head side to side, "Well, OK, he left Ravenclaw, but guess what house he asked for!"

Where Xiau failed with restrained coughs and stern looks to correct the forty or so young students' behavior, Hijaj used a more reliable method. His ear-splitting whistle cut every comment and action short. The Egyptian boy appeared determined to not have a repeat of Monday's History class, "Our instructor approaches, mind yourselfs." Following Hijaj's gesture, Al saw Fontaine nudge Scorpius, both approved of the Gryffindor exchange student's command of the large group.

Albus suppressed a giggle as Firenze trotted up. As a centaur he was half-man, half-horse, his hair was silver blond on his head, his horse body was brown with a few white spots. This was not amusing itself, but Al thought of how his sister, Lily, had asked for a ride when they met Firenze by stating clearly she had been told to NOT ask for a ride. Al didn't see the point of riding a centaur: uncontrollable, bumpy, no proper view. Maybe it was best that their flight class would be left for last ( _what if Slytherin already had their flight class?!_ )

Firenze walked to the center dais. Al wondered momentarily if the instructor meant to tower over them even more. He was already two and a half meters tall, nearly as tall as Hagrid. However, having better judgment, the centaur knelt in the aisle between the raised center and the front row of benches. His brow furrowed as he looked over the class, "I expect forty, yet you are forty-one." His voice raised as if his first comment was not meant for everyone to hear, "I am Firenze." His manner was measured, precise. "This course is Divination. We shall gather here as weather permits, inside if it does not. Our forecasts of such should be accurate." Al snorted a laugh, but stopped quickly at Scorpius' warning glare. The centaur instructor raised his eyebrows briefly before he continued, "We should define the instruction. What does 'divination' mean? The answers are often to see the future, to know the past, to witness distant events. All of these are true, yet not fully correct. Your text will not help in this." Several students from both houses were searching for the answer. The books were closed with a mix of sheepish and disappointed expressions. "One of our visitors then." Al thought it was odd at first that the professor would call on Xiau. The other teachers had tried to stick to calling on the first years. Then again, the older students had been picked when it came to difficult questions (or when their turn came up).

It wasn't Xiau that spoke though, "To be inspired by- by a higher power." It was Sam, seated just beyond the older girl.

Firenze nearly smiled. "Yes. That is the word's origin. There is a meaning, a contradiction in this that we must learn."

Al thought, _Err, what?_ Where was Aunt Hermione when you needed her? Rose was there though. Albus turned to her, but her raised eyebrow showed she was just as confused.

One of the Ravenclaws had similar concerns, "Mister ... Firenze, sir?"

The centaur acknowledged her calmly, "Miss ...?"

The girl's cheeks were sunken and from the side her nose was curved over like a hawk's, "Burkes, sir. Our book, it isn't about Divination, sir. None of the writers are even wizards." She held it out as proof of her claim. The book was brand new with a glossy cover featuring pictures ( _still pictures_ ) of beakers and flasks of chemicals, a large white fingerprint over the backdrop of a judge and jury among other things. It was rather easy to pick out from the drab covers of _Book of Spells_ and _Book of Potions_ (which looked as boring at their names). "It's all about muggle crime scenes."

Firenze was concerned, "This is not correct. Let me see."

After a sigh of relief, Talyn Burkes dashed down to the front row, and handed her book to the professor. Many in the class were likewise relieved. There had been considerable confusion over this thoroughly non-wizard book. Firenze leafed through the front pages, then closed the book and returned it. "I see the issue."

The girl's shoulders heaved, "Thank Merlin! I knew there was something wrong."

The centaur nodded, "Do not fault yourself, all may learn from your mistake." Al thought it was like a snitch-grab right after the first goal: Relief 10, Confusion 150. "The text also covers testimony, handling and examination of evidence and witnesses, observation methods in addition to scenes of criminal acts. It is written for a group: the Metropolitan Police Service Specialist Crime Directorate, their focus is crime. This, however, also covers the issues essential to Divination." He stood, in a measured rise alongside the dais. Al recalled that Firenze did not enjoy sitting for long (or was it at all?). The professor scanned the students before he spoke, "Please, look about, and tell what you may observe of this area." The book, and Firenze's direction, made Al think of the "Moody" Auror comic, and all the muggle detective programs like it (what else would he watch with an Auror for a father?).

Several hands went up, and the teacher gestured them to speak, then replied in turn. "This is the Divination class."

He wasn't impressed, "Hmm, but others may instruct here, we may attend elsewhere. It may not be a class, as it is called a theatre."

"The stones are done like the druids did."

Another steady correction, "As the printed sheets say, but those known as druids are a very recent group, historically. Their methods influenced by the Celts, Romans, and many others that came before them."

Several more suggestions were offered, and shot down. It was pretty funny when Rose wasn't right (apparently someone named Flitwick, and not Grawp placed the stones for the benches). The chuckling annoyed his cousin, and got the teacher's attention. "Yes, Albus Potter."

Al was about to just explain himself. Firenze was very patient, and might not be bothered that Albus was just laughing at everyone else. The centaur's tail flicked and he pawed the dirt before him with one hoof, signs of annoyance in Al's experience. Maybe he wasn't as patient in class. Then, like one of those brilliant people on the telly, it came to Al: his hoof ... "Uh, there's a horse comes 'round here."

Scorpius' eyes bulged and quickly looked away, several others gasped (Rose fought back her own giggle). That made Al nervous. He knew no one was supposed to ask centaurs for a ride as it was like comparing them to horses. As he had said before, Al had a hard time saying what he meant. The centaur in question did not appear to be offended, "Go on. A horse ..."

Albus tried to remember how those characters in the programs went over the evidence. Hermione had complained that such things were well researched and thought out instead of bursts of inspiration. Everyone's eyes were on Al. It made him self-conscious and he looked at the ground instead. _Footprints and hoofprints_ ... whatever Aunt Herm said, "bursts" were all Albus had, "Well, some creature with hooves, and people."

The professor's tone was expectant. "A hoofed creature ... and people."

Al thought to lie, said he had to go to the bathroom, and that was the source of his next idea, "Well, a trained, hoofed ... creature, or ... one that can, uh, knows where the loo is."

Several snickers confirmed that Al would not have to explain further. Of course, adults had more mature ways of clarifying. Firenze took a step closer, "Very good, no voids or wastes. This hoofed creature is well-trained ... or disciplined. What else?"

Wasn't _that_ enough? He kept prodding Al for information. What did he know about centaurs? Very little, at best that they weren't much like horses. Fleur had a horse at their cottage. Horses ate anything they were fed, centaurs hunted and found what they wanted. There wasn't time to think, the pressure weighed on him. _Pressure!_ "No! It isn't kept, or at least, it doesn't give rides."

Firenze rubbed his jaw in thought, "How are you certain of this?"

The pressure mounted. _Ha, MOUNTED!_ It _was_ like one of those scenes in a crime show. Maybe Al could do it, and maybe Hermione was right about brilliant people, but Al was a normal person, "The people have shoe prints, but the hooves don't. They don't have the horseshoe thing on them. That's just on mount horses, err, horses that are mounted, I mean ..."

The professor's speech remained slow and methodical, "No imprint of a metal shoe. Needed by mounts and beasts of burden to prevent hoof wear. It may be a horse, but what other hoofed creature might we have, Albus Potter?" The professor had a testing quality to his tone. Not Mum's scary "what-have-you-been-up-to?" threat, but more like Grandpa's curious "how-ever-did-you-manage-that?" wonder.

From how all the other answers were dismissed, Al knew he couldn't just say it was a centaur, but what else had hooves? _Hooves and could be at Hogwarts_... Mom's _patronus_ conjuration was a horse, but that didn't leave prints. Goats and deer hooves were too small. And the only deer or such Al had seen outside a zoo was also a _patronus_ conjured by his father, a form _his_ father used to take. It came to Al just as the teacher was about to wave Mattie to speak, "It could be a horse, really well-trained, and not rode, or at least not often, or a centaur," Firenze nodded politely to these already obvious possibilities. Then Al gave his most recent flash of smarts, "or a -" Albus could not recall the proper term, "a person that turns into a horse."

Firenze smiled proudly, his speech hastened slightly, "Yes! An animagus still acts as a human despite its form. Or a horse's nature would be suppressed while controlled by magic. The hoof prints follow the rows. They are not shoed. There is no spoor. If a centaur, among the many human shoes, he has conformed to human standards, by choice or by force. We must limit observation to what _is_ , but be open to all that is possible. Talyn Burkes, you have read the beginning of the tome. It mentions hoof beats and horses, a section headed 'Instincts'."

Talyn was still annoyed at her previous embarrassment. She took the offer for what it was, a chance to make up for her earlier error. "Err, instincts, uh - Upon being called to investigate a, err, _a body_ , your first instinct is to conclude it a homicide. You are a police officer, and this is an a proper- appropriate instinct." Her reading was a bit halted, like most people their age. It was a small comfort to Al that someone from Ravenclaw read aloud about as well as he did. "Our ancestors were well served by their instincts. When they heard hoof beats, they thought of horses. Instincts serve well at a moment's notice, but not in through the, in the _thorough_ process of an investigation." She paused to look up. The professor gestured for her to continue. "Just as the sound of hooves may belong to a horse, a zebra, or a comedian clapping coconut shells," Burkes and several others were puzzled. Al laughed just because it sounded silly. "By your training you know, the cause of death may have been natural, accidental, self-inflicted, or the scene itself manufactured. This manual will instruct you how to move beyond those initial instincts and extend an analytical process to all proportions, _portions_ of the investigation."

Firenze was enthused at the last line, but remained deliberate in his speech, "Yes, **this** is how we must approach divination. In my own past I have clung to methods that while true, were often vague. I thought myself enlightened as I sought to act on knowledge of the future, rather than awaiting its passing. I dismissed other methods as too narrow, unreliable. Rose Weasley, you mentioned Grawp placing the stones. Imagine in a crystal ball, or other visions, you observe a giant with stones in each hand approaching from the hills. What might it mean?"

Rose held up better than Talyn had as she tried to out-guess the instructor, "I might think he plans to attack the castle. But if he's only the two stones ... I'd have to think about how he looks, what time of day it is, who's with him, what's around him, the state of the buildings." Rose, being from Al's family, had also often been present at those Auror-filled gatherings (and watched the same detective shows!).

It worked, the professor was quite satisfied, "Yes, quite right! Many would declare a giant in the future, prepared to hurl stones upon our heads. Instead, he is covered in dust, bears a great smile, and," he pawed with his hoof again, "the relatively small figure of Professor Hagrid beside his leg, to guide him in transporting the final stones needed to rebuild the Castle Hogwarts."

Rose seemed to be caught up in the centaur's exuberance, "But that's already happened!" The eager tone did not match the protest of the words.

"So it has. But this would be confirmation beyond trust, or discovery for those unfamiliar with Hogwarts. It is Dean Thomas' way to provide official recitation of fledgling magic use. Whom among you was subject to this?" Rose raised her hand along with a reluctant, scraggly-faced boy. Albus struggled against his amusement at his cousin being singled out (again) for her candle incident. Firenze addressed the boy, "Mister Ashtongue, were you provided with a new perspective by Dean Thomas?"

The boy smirked and snorted, "Yah, Ma always tells it like I just crawled inta the ape display 'cause the muggles didn't tend the fence, not that I bent it out like a bridge." Al, along with the other Gryffindors laughed at the new tale of underage casting, while the Ravenclaws were not quite as amused at hearing the tale a second time and merely grinned.

"And you, Rose Weasley?"

A brief narrowing of the eyes gave away her actual offense at the issue, but she kept up a happy front, "Yessir, it was a different story." Albus wasn't satisfied by the short admission. The Gryffindors had heard Ashtongue's tale, the Ravenclaw's deserved the same from Rose. She tried to shove off Al as he poked her arm and neck. The centaur professor raised his eyebrows in anticipation. She exclaimed in a huff, "All right, Al! Yes, I shot candles at my cousin James, but I think I aimed for the wrong Potter!" Xiau and Sam were the only ones not moved to laughter. Even Firenze was openly amused.

"Very good! So, we can see that perspectives differ even without viewing them magically. In these first years we shall explore the limitations and possibilities of the many methods of divination, with exercises in, please transcribe, retrocognition," Several people, mostly Gryffindors and Al were caught unprepared to write.

Firenze pointed to a student who responded, "Seeing back in time."

"Yes, also using evidence to broaden our understanding of the past. Not all our inspiration comes in images." Satisfied everyone was ready to write, the professor continued, "Clairvoyance, something many of you are well practiced in."

Mattie was uncertain, "Err, I don't even know what that _means."_

Unchanged, Firenze went on, "Yet you very likely have experience in remote viewing." He pointed to an up-stretched hand from one of the Ravenclaw girls.

"Television means 'far viewing'!" Her excitement made Al think she must have been wizard-raised and had only just found out about the BBC from Madam Gabbble.

"Precisely. And lastly, precognition, or 'before knowing', this is the most alluring, and misleading, field of our studies here: knowledge of the future. I warn you, the more accurate our view of the future, the less precise, and the more precise, the less accurate." Al was not alone in not understanding the professor's seeming contradiction. "Now, for this week's exercise, each of you pair up with another student. Your headmaster desires this to be with a member of another house to establish a sort of harmony. I encourage this to aid in diversity of perspective."

Sam

A pop quiz in their first session. Was it some twist of fate that Sam took her medication today? Or, seeing as it was the Divination teacher, had he _known_ she would take it and scheduled the test accordingly? Pablo had guessed Stalvan was going to throw that board. So, despite Sam's doubts about seeing the future, people could still make very good guesses about it ( _Ahem, your mother?_ )

Back at Groom Lake, Sam had a certain kind of prediction ability. When she had demonstrated control over her empathy, she was still forced to take her pills on most test days (as if reading anxiety in everyone would help her). Therefore, a visit from a medicaster on an odd day was a give away.

Maybe this was all just a coincidence, though; The centaur professor hesitated when it came to matching up all the students from different houses. "The older students will work together on this. No, Albus Potter, I would speak with you." Al had been right between Rose and Scorpius. It wasn't clear who the original pairing would have been, but, deprived of her cousin, Weasley moved to join up with Malfoy.

DuBois had the advantage, "I t'ink Scorp'yus and I shall make better partners." Sam would have laughed if she could without looking like a ventriloquist dummy.

Rose was not quick to surrender, "I specifically heard the professor say we were to pair up with a student from another house." She laid her fingers on Scorpius' shoulder.

Fontaine escalated the physical contact. She wrapped her arm around Malfoy's. It was enough to pull him from Rose's touch, "And eet is not known what house he will be in, or 'ave you been tryin' to see his future?"

Xiau had excused herself from Hijaj and approached the disturbance, "Miss Weasley, it would appear no one has partnered with Miss Witherspoon, and she seems eager to do so."

 _No, I am really not interested in partnering with_ _ **her.**_ Sam wanted to project her feelings on Xiau, but that was impossible today. Weasley didn't look happy with the situation either. She stood and lifted her book bag as if it were suddenly filled with bricks. Rose didn't look back. Sam wasn't certain that was a bad thing or not. On the one hand, it meant Rose didn't get upset seeing Fontaine's smug smirk. However, she might have been pleased at Scorpius glancing over his shoulder, the disappointment on his face was obvious.

Xiau rejoined Hijaj at the dais, a position that gave both of them a clear view of everyone else. Rose dropped her bag carelessly when she reached Sam. They were already at the front and center, it wouldn't take much to draw attention. Sam wanted to avoid the situation becoming any worse, "Let's get this over with."

Four students took stacks of parchment from Firenze, one of them approached Rose and Sam. "One per pair." Sam wasn't sure if the boy was Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. She hadn't paid much attention today, cycling through European capitals in her head at every opportunity ( _mostly_ ).

Rose started to take the top sheet, but, on seeing his red hand, stopped and faced the boy, "Cren! What happened to you?"

His skin was **all** red. He gave a short sigh and a pained grimace, "Err, well, it ..."

Sam couldn't stand the awkwardness. They were the first ones receiving the test, and Rose decided to take the time to chit-chat while people watched. The stack looked heavy and ... "He doesn't want to talk about it. Other people are waiting." She didn't look it, but angry as she felt, Sam thought if she bit her lip to shut herself up, she would draw blood (looking feral wasn't likely to help).

Rose snatched the sheet away and gave Switch an apologetic grin. She turned her temper on Sam, "You're rude!"

Sam answered reflexively, "You're ugly." The boy, who had been adjusting his load of quizes, stifled his shock and departed hastily.

Weasley's eyes narrowed and her lips tightened, "Let's be done with this!" She placed the assignment between them, but towards her. Rose scanned it quickly. She took a quill from her bag, flicked it away from her, and began writing.

"We're both supposed to work on it, " Sam placidly objected.

"Fine. I did the indoor classes, you can do the outdoors." Rose turned the parchment around to face Witherspoon.

Sam wasn't sure if Rose was right or not. She hadn't attended all the classes listed (Astronomy, Law and Ethics of Magic, Magic Theory). Still, it was a simple matching question. Sam drew lines from Herbology to the greenhouses, Creatures to the zoo, and Divination to the theater. She wasn't certain about Flight being in a courtyard, but it was the only one left. It didn't help Sam's mood either way. It only reminded her she would have to face that vampire again AND try to fly on a freaking broomstick. _Major clichè!_

Weasley snatched the paper, "I'll get the houses." She quickly filled out the locations: Gryffindor off the central tower, Ravenclaw in the west tower, both Hufflepuff and Slytherin in the dungeon.

The form was handed over again. This section was fill-in the blanks, and thus slightly more difficult. Sam called out an error, "The Hufflepuffs, they call their area the basement." The next entry stumped Sam: the first floor of those who roost, and that which flies.

At the comment, Rose took the form back, "Dungeon, basement, whatever. All right ... the ... must mean the owlery, the steps start on the sixth."

"What about the clock tower?"

"What?"

"Time. Owls roost, oxford comma, time flies. Where does the clock tower start?" This was getting tricky ... and interesting.

Rose said nothing, but corrected _Owlery sixth, clock tower third._ She gave the quiz back.

Sam glanced and quickly wrote _5._

"No, there are four tables in the Great Hall, one for each house."

Maybe she was right, this was rather simple after the riddle in the last entry. But ... no."Instructors," Sam retorted simply.

Rose sighed and rolled her eyes and took the parchment, "Five then. Number of wings in the zoo? All right, not just four, but with the aquarium and aviary, six?" She raised her eyebrows but didn't look up for confirmation.

Sam made a sound like a game show buzzer yet somehow managed to sound bored, "Ahhn! Trick question. Aviary varies."

Weasley's face contorted in confusion, "Varies? No, the aviary is only one of the wings..." She closed her eyes and started to raise her hand to her face, " _Wings_... of creatures in the zoo. Yes, right, _varies._ Well, you should know this one, too." She exchanged the quiz again. "Three. Skein has one, then me, then Al and Scorpius." Sam didn't mean to tally off who was in the guest quarters, and she certainly didn't mean to utter her next thought, "Haven't you been to Al's room?"

Rose bit her lip, "I already... it's five, no, eight, each house has a guest room, the Chinese girl's chaperone is in the Ravenclaw one, and there's one at the zoo, as well. We aren't allowed to go to the main guest quarters. It's more -"

"You aren't allowed to jump off the castle either."

Rose tried to continue as if Sam had not cut her off, "- because of James and Louis ... the guest room thing, not the jumping. Well, no, that was James, too, but ..." They stared at each other a few moments. Sam would have gone on with the test, but Rose had snatched it away. "How many professors live on Hogwarts grounds? Hagrid, the headmaster and his wife, Professors Emmerlinse, Gabble and Stalvan. Six, Firenze lives in the Forest and Mister Creevey wouldn't count as a professor."

"What about Healer Bell?"

Rose rolled her eyes again, "She **is** the headmaster's wife, and she gives an advanced class in healing and medicine."

"Then five."

It was like the comment had offended Weasley, "You think Orinsworth has her live somewhere else because she's also the healer? Or she isn't a professor because she's someone's _spouse?_ She kept her old name because she was already the healer when they married. Everyone who _belongs_ here knows they're husband and wife."

Rose's condescending tone pushed Sam to the edge. "Five. Emmerlinse doesn't ... live ... anywhere." She really wanted to put the emphasis on "live", but the best she managed was to pause before and after.

Weasley gripped her quill tightly as she tapped her foot rapidly in the dust and gravel. A drop of ink threatened to fall, Rose swung it off to the side, "Fine, five. I suppose you have some insight at to how many people are in the White Tomb?"

Sam managed to raise an eyebrow, "Does Emmerlinse count this time?" It was a joke. She was trying, maybe not very well, to make this better, or at least less worse.

Rose wasn't sure what to make of Sam's response, "I don't think he has a _grave_ ... so-to-speak. It's just the one: Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Nope."

"And how is that?"

"It's just a body, if that. There are no 'people' in the tomb."

Rose looked like she was considering if Sam was still being rude. Either way, she wrote _none_. "Bonus question, how many students are at Hogwarts? There's seventeen in Gryffindor, but it will be eighteen with Al. Crendal said Ravenclaw has eighteen, and Heather the same for Hufflepuff. I don't know about Slytherin, maybe Scorpius does." Rose grasped her ponytail close as she looked over her shoulder at Malfoy (with DuBois). She turned back quickly, her eyes downcast, her face sullen.

Rose's seeming interest in Scorpius annoyed Sam considering what Rose had (almost) said about Slytherins on Sunday, "Yeah, hate for him to end up with some Sly-," Witherspoon paused, "sleazebags?" Quoting Rose back to herself, funny or not, came across cruel. Sam instantly regretted it.

The damage was done. Rose knew what Sam was referring to, and did not take the crack well. "Yes, well, all the houses should be even. Four times eighteen times seven ..." She wrote towards the bottom of the sheet.

Sam responded instantly, "Five hundred and four, but it's wrong."

Rose's teeth clenched, she finished her equation to the same result. "Now what?!"

Sam answered in her near monotone, "There are twenty Ravenclaw fourth years to mentor the 'firsters', and they had two extra for them also, meaning there are twenty-two in the seventh year, not accounting for drop-outs."

" **No one** drops out of Hogwarts!"

Sam remained neutral, "Assuming that is true, fourth has twenty per house and seventh has twenty-two. We could take fourth, as implied, as an inflection point, but I have nothing emprical to say that it's indicative for fifth and sixth, or second and third."

A bit of her fury quelled by confusion, Rose responded apprehensively, "Inflection? Empirical is - has to do with evidence. We would have to see the student rolls ... or -" she gave an exasperated sigh. She looked back anxiously as others began to hand in their quizzes.

Witherspoon was not distracted, but remained outwardly passive, "Weed Weasel, focus. Is there a Weasley in each school year at Hogwarts? Or at least the ones we don't know?"

As intended, the comment caught Rose's attention, though not in the best manner, "My **name** is **Rose.** " She whispered her train of thought, "Victoire, Fred, Dominique, Molly, Rox and James, Louis." Rose sat up straight and spoke clearly, "Fred's sixth, and had the same as Vicky- Victoire's in seventh, and Dom's fifth with the same, then Molly's had two less, like James and Louis, and now ours ..."

"So, four times eighteen is seventy-two. Three years twenty times four is easy eighty." Sam blinked, "Two hundred forty, write that, and fifth, sixth, seventh is twenty-four more, two-sixty-four," She turned the sheet to look at the numbers Rose had written, "So two of two-forty, four-eighty plus two four, seventy-two first, seven exchanges: five hundred eighty-three."

Rose brightened up, "And four away makes it five hundred and seventy-nine." Sam nodded once. Rose shook her head dismissively, wrote the answer, then went and handed the parchment over to Hijaj. As she returned to her seat, she looked Sam up and down. "You know I'm not class leader anymore? After only two days."

Sam didn't know what Rose was even talking about. _The first years had class leaders?_ She admonished herself to say something, anything just ... not mean. "I care?" _Not even close!_

It was received better than she could have expected, "Well, you might." Rose took a breath. She looked about, some people were done, most still working on the quiz, having their own conversations or watching as Hijaj and Xiau compared the papers to their answer keys. Firenze returned, Albus tiny beside him, from just beyond the front row. Rose was hushed, "Louis and I went to the guest rooms, trying to see Al last night. But we were caught and both lost leader and twenty points each. _Don't_ tell Albus!"

Witherspoon blinked, "I won't." _So, she tried, I won't say anything ... unless she's lying._ She was even less certain what to think of Rose. Sam's emotional blank state probably didn't help Rose's opinion of her either. The medicine ... the whole class could have gone better, or much worse, without it.

Hijaj sounded impressed, or maybe smug, "As you _divined,_ sir." He held one parchment out to Firenze.

If they hadn't been seated up front, Sam would not have made out the centaur's hushed comment, "But the fast friends are not friends at all ..." Then much louder, "Nearly, but still, Miss Weasley and Miss Witherspoon are the only ones to answer all correctly. An award of twenty points is granted to you each, please review the answers for your peers." He handed the graded sheet to Rose.

Rose smiled broadly, in all her long-toothed, freckle-faced glory. Sam thought how, without an enchanted item, her own smile, her real appearance would be more of a target than Weasley's awkward looks. She interrupted Rose just as the other girl was about to address the class, "There's your points." Rose gave a humored sniff before she started.


	5. Chapter 21-25

Chapter 21 Riddles and Clues

Scorpius

Divination was still an uncertain prospect, but not so easily dismissed. He had never trusted the concept. If he thought about it, that was more the opinion of the Countess, his father, and his grandmother, but it had become his own. However, the idea of using practised law enforcement strategies with matters of magic appealed to him. It made him think of how Grandmother Cissy had bemoaned watching television when she moved in (or so Scorpius had been told, it happened when he was an infant) on the grounds that wizards and witches should hold fast to a magical lifestyle. But message books worked like texting, and sending mirrors like phones, and - wizards had _nothing_ like television. Muggles even packed all three and more into a single device. And owls? They were good only for old-fashioned letters, too small for most parcels, and could be more difficult on top of that. Scorpius thought about what Professor Longbottom had said during their dinner, and as much as he admired the professor's history and his professional manner, he was unsure that holding onto tradition for tradition's sake was worthwhile.

The Ravenclaws were assigned the greenhouses and gardens for maintenance. Fontaine departed with the majority of the second years to tend to the upper classes' greenhouses, while the first years, with a couple of second years in charge, cleaned up the others. Albus was distracted after his talk with the professor. When they rejoined the class, Al hadn't said anything during the discussion of the quiz answers and how they came to the right or wrong conclusions. Scorpius had found himself smiling as Rose Weasley read off her answers, she seemed much more like the legendary Hermione Weasley when given the chance to lead (he hadn't asked, but she was most certainly one of the Gryffindor lead students).

There was no chance to talk to Albus about what happened with Firenze. Or rather, while the opportunity of time was present, the racket prevented a discreet discussion. They wound up in the second years' greenhouse. The screeching and clanging was supposedly a wizarding music group. Al said (yelled) something about having heard the group, Executioner's Axe, before. It was a favorite of his brother's. "The music" was intended to make the growing mandrake roots angrier, and thus more potent. Scorpius thought it would have encouraged the proper use of hearing protection, as well, but few of the others wore their ear muffs correctly.

It was a long climb up to the Ravenclaw tower, even two stories more than to Gryffindor. Fontaine had rightly expected him to know the Gryffindor house location, yet was quick to forgive his forgetting. She kept with Scorpius and Albus on the way up, while Samantha seemed to only absently end up near the front of the group.

The entrance to Ravenclaw was at the top of a spiral stair case. It had a large, wooden door with a bronze eagle sculpture in the center. Fontaine edged forward. The first years hesitated to approach the portal, and the other second years were no bolder. DuBois used the eagle as a knocker. Instead of the voice coming from behind the door, it seemed to come from the eagle itself, "Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?"

Immediately, Samantha stated, "The egg."

"Hmph!" DuBois chortled, "You t'ink you're so smart, Amereeca." She faced the door, "Thee birth cannot be without dee death. Thee cycle is without end, dee origin unknown." The door opened. She smirked smuggly at Samantha.

Samantha's expression did not change, "Common rooms were an uncommon virtue." She stood aside as the others entered.

Scorpius took advantage of whatever influence he might have on Fontaine, and brought her with him into the common room (and away from Samantha).

Where Gryffindor had been very formal, and Hufflepuff quite quaint in its decoration, Ravenclaw was ... open? The ceiling was quite high, and the furniture and bookcases seemed to be fit in anywhere and everywhere around the edges. A marble statue of a woman was on the far side of the round room, while a hollow sphere occupied the center. The globe was constructed of wide-spaced, delicate wires, like a smaller version of the astronomy canopy. It contained many pinpoints of light. Scorpius was intrigued and approached it.

Fontaine observed, "Ef you 'ave dee time, eet even moves." The idea interested Scorpius. Spurred on by his expression, Fontaine decided to go a bit further, "And if not ..." She reached down and slid a ring at the base. The flickers and shapes moved slowly. Then, she spun the ring and the projection dazzled about.

Scorpius managed to overcome his wonder just enough to speak, "But, won't that ruin it for, I mean ... someone might have been using it."

She shook her head, and continued to grin, "You really ahre so polite. Eet is a star map, Ih've studied the stars at home, but 'ere eet is not astrology, and is not until thee third year." Then, she said to the star globe, "Present, Antares." The entire projection reset, and zoomed in to a single star. "Widah, widah, ah, stop." There were now quite a few stars. "You know this?"

He was unsure, though still curious, "No, the closest I've seen to something like this was a planetarium, but that was quite different."

Fontaine laughed, her voice was too deep to giggle, "You mean not every Eenglishman has one of these in his water closet?"

Scorpius was amused, "We don't anyway. But, you said it's Antares, correct? It's red."

"Eet's also called Cor Scorpii" she delicately placed her finger to his chest, "... heart of the scorpion." She removed her hand and directed her inquiry to the projection, "Eh, _Scorpius?"_ A series of lines connected several of the stars, and the outline of a scorpion formed around them.

Malfoy's face was flush and warm, and it took several moments before he could face Fontaine. She blinked and took him to one of the couches about the room. He wondered how long they had been holding hands.

Albus

On the one hand, Albus was disappointed that Samantha, yet again, didn't study with them. Especially, when on the other _hand_ , Scorpius was HOLDING HANDS WITH FONTAINE! Great for Scorpius, but Al was left alone. _Would Sam have held hands with me? Why even think about that?_ Albus was suddenly quite glad that Samantha, with her mental abilities, was nowhere near him just then. He tried to focus on his work. Tallinn gave him a sheet before awkwardly staring at Scorpius and Fontaine. The Ravenclaw parchment had the daily assignments, but in a different order from the classes. Burkes was still standing in front of him, and he looked at the slip for Malfoy she held behind her back. The assignments were the same, but in yet another order. Before Al could ask, Tallinn overcame her caution to approach the duo. Either way, the order he had worked for him: fill-ins for Alchemy, Charms practice, then an observation exercise from the Divination (Police) book. The History assignment was marked as already complete.

The hour was almost up when Albus started in on his levitation work. Scorpius and Fontaine were no longer holding hands, though they still exchanged ear-to-ear smiles (while doing schoolwork!) Al folded his assignment list, then tore off sections. He worked those bits into small, poorly fashioned paper airplanes. _"Wingardum leviosah!"_ It levitated, and when he flicked his wand it flew out straight enough, but fell and skidded on the floor under Malfoy's seat. Several girlish giggles caught Al's attention. As he looked around, it appeared the girls of Ravenclaw were also paying attention to the young couple (or were they watching him?). One of them nodded Al on to continue his airborne assault. The second "fighter" guided in a bit better, and brushed the collar of Fontaine's robe. Scorpius was digging in his bag and didn't notice. Fontaine herself was locked on his activity, and swatted at the light contact. This drew another round of giggles, louder than the first. The third stayed the course and landed in Malfoy's book. Neither of the targeted pair watched this time, as a chime had sounded the end of the hour and they both looked out the window to the bell tower. Scorpius closed the book and crushed Al's shoddy missile. The boys' groans were louder at this near miss. Noise built outside the common room, likely the other Ravenclaws held up by the door's question. Albus concentrated on what Scorpius had told him in Charms as he let loose his final attack: command the object. _"Wingardum leviosah!"_ Fontaine stood as Scorpius finished putting his books away. _Where were they going already?_ Al's internal question interrupted his concentration, not that anyone would have believed it. As Scorpius reached out to take Fontaine's offered hand, the sharp point of the airplane's nose struck and made him flinch back in surprise more than pain (or so Al hoped). Cheer and applause erupted from the first and second years.

"Goooalll!"

"Never forget pilot three!"

"Foul, Gryffindor!"

 _Gryffindor?_ Al wondered.

Then, "No! Ten points to Potter!"

Scorpius looked at Albus with a bit of annoyance, but that melted as Fontaine laughed (and took hold of Scorpius' hand anyways). The common room door opened, and the last he saw of Scorpius, he was sticking his tongue out at Al. It had definitely been a good order for the assignments.

Albus had managed to finish his Alchemy work without any help. He didn't like doing it alone, but really felt out of place talking to anyone in the Ravenclaw house. It was almost like the time at Harrod's he'd followed after Lily into the restroom. Then, even with no one else there, it had just _felt_ wrong. It was not, however, all that Albus expected. The students in Ravenclaw argued a great deal, though much more politely than he and James did. They ran about a great deal more than he would have thought, too. It was not all book work and good behavior. None of that made Al feel any less of an intruder, and so he kept to himself as he looked over the pictures for Divination.

Dinner couldn't come soon enough. Albus was watching the clock when someone slammed her hands on his legs and pinned him to his seat, "Potter! What's Father going to do when he finds you in my room?" Athene had a playful smirk on her face. A chorus of ooh's and laughter went up about the room. Her expression evaporated into shock, "Merlin's beard, I did not just say that to a first year! Albus, I-"

Al snorted a chuckle, not that he could guess what first years weren't supposed to see in Athene's room, but her quick change in attitude was funny along with her confusion. "Nah, I think they're just acting funny 'cause we're not really supposed to be here." Al explained his sortie of planes, but he didn't see where Fontaine and Scorpius had moved to.

Athene Shacklebolt searched the room. Her gaze stopped on an alcove above and behind her, overlooking the central room. "Careful of that one, Al." Albus was disappointed. He knew people didn't like the Malfoys (Scorpius had said so), but he had hoped Athene was above that. She was never mean to anyone (that he knew of). Al didn't have a chance to say anything before she continued, "Too young to be that arrogant."

 _But Scorpius isn't arrogant! If that means what I think it means._

"Too clueless to see that she's rubbing everyone the wrong way." Albus was glad he'd been cut off: she hadn't meant Scorpius. "Well, everyone minus one it seems." Athene shook her head and turned back to Albus. "Good luck with your sorting." They were both smiling as Athene strode off.

The Ravenclaw headstudent did not surprise Al as much as the Minister of Magic's daughter had, "Hey, Potter, seeing as you and Malfoy have a liking for Ravenclaw women of darker complexions, I warn you, Madam Tomlinson is happily married, so don't take an invitation to eat with her the wrong way." O'Donnell renewed Al's embarrassment (the attention over the planes was enough). At least it was time to eat.

Albus' curiousity overcame his hunger. He dawdled just enough to watch Scorpius and Fontaine. He wasn't sure if it was the number of people that might see, or if they were just "hand holded" out, but all they did was chat and smile.

O'Donnell spoke over his shoulder, "So, Mister Potter, you know anyone from Ravenclaw besides the Minister's daughter and magazine-publishing celebrities?"

Al had wondered about that himself. Athene Shacklebolt, Luna Scamander and ...? "Oh, yes, Señor Mateo. Iggy! He's like an exchange auror from, uh, South America, which isn't part of the real America."

The older student shook his head and chuckled, "South America is a continent, the United States of America is a country ... in _North_ America."

"Yeah, they're not the same thing, that's what I said." People corrected Al even when he was right.

Dietrich shook his head again, "I don't think Auror Mateo actually attended Hogwarts, though. The Ministry has this odd system about House allegiances. Professor Gabble gave us **two meters** to write on it." O'Donnell didn't sound very happy about that. Al didn't bother to point out that the Muggle Studies professor had nothing to do with the Ministry _or_ Aurors.

Samantha was already seated at the foot-end of the Ravenclaw table. Albus decided to sit beside her, but his instincts made him sit away from the aisle. As he did so, Al caught sight of James as he drew back an outstretched hand, faked a smile and greeted Sam, "Hey, girlie!" He squinted his eyes at Al as he moved on.

Her plain expression broke into pained confusion, "Portugal?" Her face went blank of emotion again, "Spain, Madrid; but Portugal ..." Scorpius sat across from Al, while Fontaine sat closer to the other Ravenclaws. Samantha repeated the country, "Portugal?"

Al offered, "Is way south?"

Scorpius' brow wrinkled up, "Portugal ... Lisbon?"

As if a curtain had just been beat for pixies, Sam's words rushed out, "Lisbon Portugal, Madrid Spain, Andorra, Paris France, ..." She continued with little pauses for breath as she rattled off another twenty or more countries and cities. Professor Tomlinson sat at the foot of the table as Samantha went through the Scandinavian nations, "Helsinki Finland, Stockholm Sweden, Oslo Norway ..." She looked uncertainly at the Alchemy professor, "Reykjavik ... Iceland." and she stopped. Albus wanted to laugh, but he held it back.

Professor Tomlinson seemed amused, as well, "And Scotland?"

Samantha's face twitched, as if she were unsure, but tried to force a plain expression, "Scotland isn't a country. It's part of the United Kingdom, so, London?"

The professor gave a light scoff, "Hmph! Good thing my father's already passed or that would've been the end of him."

Samantha didn't take it as a joke, "Sorry you lost your dad." She looked into her lap and rubbed her thumbs into her fingers.

The Ravenclaw househead softened at the misunderstanding, "Thank you, but don't trouble yourself, it was long ago. It's Edinburgh, by and by."

Their meals appeared ( _mint glazed pork chops and cinnamon apples!_ )

Sam watched as the food appeared without any flash or sparkle. "Neat," it was tough to tell if she was actually impressed.

No one said much of anything for awhile as they ate. Al became unsure why Professor Tomlinson bothered to eat with them. She was just going to give them some boring assignment to read up on the houses (or worse). He braced himself for it when she finished eating and started to speak, "Our Professor Gabble has a discussion in her Ethics class. It's a bit advanced, but I think the lesson could help your situation." She produced a small piece of parchment.

 _Here it comes,_ thought Al.

Tomlinson sipped from her drink. "This is an adaptation of on an old tale. Four friends from Hogwarts, recent graduates, come upon a bridge across an impassable river in the woods."

Al snorted a laugh through his food. His mouth still full he managed, "Guarded by Death!" Sam faced him at the interruption.

Professor Tomlinson was not shocked at his guess, "Yes, guarded by Death. As it happens, each of the friends was from one of the four houses. Death demanded one soul for the group to cross." She paused, and looked quickly to each of them.

Samantha turned back to the professor, "You're going to tell us a fable for picking a house?" There was barely an edge to her voice.

The professor licked her lips and smiled tightly, "Quite the opposite, you three are going to tell me, Miss Witherspoon. Now, Mister Potter, what do you think," she placed the slip on the table and tapped it with her finger, "the Gryffindor student would do? Do swallow first, please."

After a gulp of juice, Al's mouth was empty of food or speech. "Err, ... I don't know. Prolly fight Death. He'd have some weapon or something that made it so Death couldn't hurt them."

Tomlinson faced Scorpius and gestured for him to answer. He nodded, "Like the gifts of the founders, but he or she could place an avoidance charm on the area, to safeguard any others, and seek another route..." Malfoy looked disappointed, "... even if they didn't have such weapons."

Samantha responded when the househead faced her, "Fire ... boom. Death was on the bridge, bridge gone, Death dies. Soul toll paid." Her mouth twinged as if she might have grinned.

The professor smiled at the response, "Indeed. Were it so easy ... now, same order, Mister Potter, Hufflepuff's solution."

It was a bit like an assignment with each of them providing answers, yet a bit like a game, too. Albus thought about what Hannah Longbottom (the only Hufflepuff he could think of) would do, "Ask Death what he really wanted ,'cause wouldn't he already have enough souls?"

"Ha! Very good, now Mister Malfoy."

Scorpius gave more thought to his responses than Albus, and it showed on his face. He grimaced briefly, "Have the group vote on it, on what they would be willing to do, or suggest to go around."

"And Miss Witherspoon."

Samantha also thought about it a moment, though with more obvious effort, "Earth ... toil. It isn't the bridge that takes the toll, crossing the river ... tunneling would take too long. Make a dam?" She scrunched up her lips considering the idea, then winced, "They're in the woods, he'd get everyone to make another bridge."

Tomlinson seemed to imitate Sam's funny lip reaction, "Another bridge, very well ..."

The American girl wasn't quite done though, "and a sign. He'd make a sign to warn people off. But ... Death would destroy all that, magic, bridge, signs, whatever."

The professor looked as if to wait for Sam's permission to continue which led to a brief staring match. Tomlinson gave up and went on, "And what would you imagine to be Ravenclaw's response?"

Al frowned and shrugged, "I mean, I guess, they would know the first story and ... well, in that one the brothers made the bridge. But Sam just said it. I think they'd make another bridge."

Scorpius was ready and spoke when the instructor faced him, "He or she would determine if the figure was indeed Death, not just an imposter. And even if it was Death, he or she would inquire the reason for the toll. I don't think an ... 'open mind' would pass up the chance to investigate such a thing as Death guarding a bridge in the woods."

The househead nodded slowly, "Quite good, quite. What is your suggestion, miss?"

Samantha took a deep breath. Her face twitched and she blinked oddly for a moment, "Air ... smarts. She'd fly over. They're graduates. She must know how to fly if she's in the brains house. She'd show the others. But it'd count as crossing, she'd die. Not too brainy. The rest get across though."

Tomlinson was amused, "There you have it. Though flight is a bit complicated. Perhaps I should make these O.W.L. students. However, we've still Slytherin to consider. Mister Potter, did you miss lunch?"

Albus shook his head and swallowed with the help of his drink, "Mmm, 'k. Err, they'd probably know some trick to beating death. Like, they'd offer their own life, but make it so the date was some far off year, then get turned into a vampire before then."

"Perhaps that was Professor Emmerlinse's dilemma." That was pretty close to a joke for Madam Tomlinson. She wasn't that good at it though.

Scorpius gave his answer gravely, without looking up, "The student would speak with Death privately, assuring it that the next student to approach would pay the toll. He'd tell the others that Death would allow one of them to pass if the rest decided to not pay the toll and that one should step forward and find a way for the rest of them once across."

Professor Tomlinson's face was blank for a split second, "Quite ... grim, Scorpius." she gulped the remainder of her drink and seemed recovered. "Samantha?"

She sounded a little more normal, "Splash! Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, whoever was dumb enough to be closest. Wait!"

The instructor raised an incredulous eyebrow, "Not Ravenclaw?"

Samantha looked down at the table, as Scorpius had, "No. She might need brains later on. Water and air are complementary. Ice is viable, steam isn't, mud isn't ... but ... Gryffindor. She'd lure him over and push in Gryffindor." Sam was worried, or pained. "A brain and a worker, the Slytherin needs them, she doesn't need someone who's gonna be upset and whine about what needs to be done." She faced Tomlinson, the pain more obvious on her face, "Is that the whole thing? Can I go now?"

"Are you certain you are well, Miss Witherspoon?" Samantha nodded, but not even Albus was convinced. Tomlinson wasn't either, but a glance to the rear door of the Great hall, and the househead gave a nod, "The point of the exercise is to decide which of the solutions best suits you. Think on it and have a good night."

Sam forced a smile, then her face twitched again. She climbed out of her seat and dashed off to the entrance hall.

Sam

The medicine, it was wearing off, _of course._ Sam had to get out of there. She had to do something else, something active, distracting, _focus in, spaz out_. Skein was at the Great Hall doors. She must have picked up on Sam broadcasting again. It was even harder to control after letting the drug do the work all day. Music, she had to get her music and ... if her mother had been there, even if they couldn't go far, they could go together: ride their bikes to the playground, go to the creekside, something, anything together. The music, dancing, would distract her.

The converter was still in the hall outside the door, Sam's phone plugged in atop it. Skein had agreed to keep them from "growing legs" (not necessarily just an expression at a magic school) while she had a day off from looming in the background. Sam grabbed her phone, opened the door, slid the charging device inside and kicked the door closed behind her. She had been disappointed when she figured out there wasn't enough magic in the rooms to build a charge. Yet turning on electronics in the hallway drained them down in seconds, even plugged in. "Norms" probably thought it was all-so-quaint when they visited. Sam threw off her blazer and put in her headphones and cranked the volume. She flicked her phone through "music" and on to "rage" as she flicked off her shoes. A bass guitar twanged as the singer growled louder and louder with the blare of the music. She jumped and danced wildly, flailing and thrashing about the room.

Scorpius

Madam Tomlinson provided the most insight on the sorting issue yet, through their own words no less. Professor Longbottom didn't expect much from eleven year-olds, and while he wasn't wrong, he wasn't entirely right either. Slytherin would trick or force someone to a dreadful fate for their own benefit. Even the American knew that. _And what about her?_ The woman that normally followed Samantha sat in a chair at the end of the hall. Scorpius let Albus go ahead. She didn't react to his pause or examination of her. Something about her unsettled him.

Albus called, "Hey! Go over this Divination stuff for me."

Malfoy closed the door behind him, and reluctantly accepted the parchment from Al's outstretched hand, _"With_ you? You just have to write down what you see in the pictures. I think the trick is ..." Except Al had already done that. "I think the trick is not to add anything you don't see."

Potter was confused, "Why ... how would I add stuff I don't see? It's a trick?" He threw his robe off in frustration.

Scorpius almost said, _Most people would._ That was, after all, the point of the lesson. "Professor Firenze will prefer your 'orange, kinda clear, bottle with a lot of little round things' better than my 'prescription bottle of pills, half full'. Except 'a lot' is two words."

"Yours sounds better. How's that not right?"

"Did something about Madam Tomlinson's version of the Biddle story bother you?" It still troubled him, and Scorpius hoped Al wasn't still angry about their exchange before lunch.

Al sighed, "No, Harry Potter's son is worried about what Firenze told him."

Calling himself that was completely called for and cruel at the same time. Scorpius felt guilty for calling Al as his father's son before, "It wasn't - I didn't mean you weren't ..." He wished he could take back most of what he had said before lunch.

Albus was confused, then realised what Scorpius was talking about, "Oh! No! Firenze called me 'Harry Potter's son', too." He thought about it, "But it was a lot creepier from him. Well, creepy at all. I mean ..." He let out a long breath, then laughed briefly.

Scorpius snickered along reluctantly. He hoped it wouldnt always be like this between the two of them. Of course, that assumed this relationship would last beyond their sorting. "What did he say?"

"Harry Potter's son or the centaur?" They shared another weak laugh.

It was only a moment before Malfoy responded, "The centaur."

Al bit his lip and lost his humor, "Said I wasn't meant ... to be there." The room fell quiet. Neither of them could meet the others' eyes. "I mean ..." and they looked at each other, "me not being meant to be in Ravenclaw is major obvious." Albus smiled at the jest, but Scorpius couldn't bring himself to do the same.

Cautiously, Scorpius asked, "And what about Gryffindor?"

Another long pause held in the air. "Like I - I don't think I ... _belong_ in Gryffindor ... but being told I don't ... maybe Dad knew. Maybe that's why he said it."

Scorpius was even more concerned. _Harry Potter said ... said what?_ "He said you wouldn't be in Gryffindor?"

Al answered as deadpan as Samantha had been all day, "He said it was all right if ... someone was ... different from - like it was an OK choice ... to go to Slytherin, I mean." Al shrugged, "Course I had just told James there was no way I'd ever end up in Slytherin, but ... I don't know."

The idea was difficult to imagine for Malfoy. "We might have a choice. What house you go to, I mean. It doesn't have to be Slytherin."

Potter raised his eyebrows, "And what if it is? What if James was right? Ugh, that would be the worst of it!"

Scorpius stopped short of slapping himself, "Your brother being right is the worst - I don't ... " He rubbed his face (it helped Father think when he was upset). "Father, and Grandmother, and the Countess, they all say Slytherin was - but it's changed. It isn't like when - it isn't like before, but ..."

The broken comments earned a thoughtful sigh from Albus, "You like _them,_ right?"

Scorpius was uncertain, "My father and grandmother? Yes. The Countess?" He considered it, "Do you like Minister Shacklebolt? Well, yes, he seems very responsible."

Al shrugged, "I don't know about responsible, but yeah, he's kinda cool ... for a grown-up."

Scorpius furrowed his brow, "The Countess is ... very particular."

"And how's that a problem for _you?"_

Scorpius caught himself, and knew he had been smoothing and tucking the folds in his robe for awhile. They both chuckled in response. He flicked his hands away from his clothes, "All right, but she's worse! A thousand times worse." If Mother had not pointed out the similarities before, Scorpius was not sure he would have taken it as well from someone else, even Al.

"And they were Slytherin, your father and grandmother, and you like them?" Al held tight to the edge of his bed as he had when he was upset before.

The question (observation?) struck home. Scorpius started to nod slowly, "Mother, too, and now Leilianna."

Al cheered a bit, "Then it isn't so bad ... to be in Slytherin, is it?"

A full minute passed before Scorpius could answer. Even then, he knew it wasn't what Albus wanted to hear, "I don't know."

Albus

It took almost an hour to convince Scorpius to stop reading ahead, to put aside schoolwork and play some wand Quidditch (in the entry hall, since it didn't work _in_ their room). Malfoy preferred wizards' chess (and his pieces didn't even move on their own. It was really only cool if you had one of the sets where they destroyed each other). It took Al admitting he had a figure of his own mother, "the Richochet" Potter, for Scorpius to give in. Malfoy didn't have any players of his own, and he didn't know which ones were good or not. Luckily, Al had more than enough for two teams (though he had to split up his all-star set to make it close to fair). At least he didn't have to explain the rules of the actual game (as Scorpius would have to for Al if they'd played chess).

The wand game had a few differences, though, one of which did not sit well with Malfoy, "So ... how the Seekers are rated sets the game time?"

Al had never questioned it, "Yeah, and it's kinda random which one gets the snitch, but Beaters set you back."

"But the only ball is the quaffle for this?" Albus was a little annoyed at how easy it was for Scorpius to control Mrs Potter to make goals. Then again, many people complained that her figure had been over-charmed because of how popular she (still) was. Either way, he was talking and playing and it wasn't hurting his game and this was his first time ... EV-VER.

Albus took possession, determined to run out the clock, betting his Tony Silva would win the toss on the snitch, "Right, you can't have an even ittier-bittier snitch, and the mini-bludgers need a contained pitch set, but you can't exactly pack those in a trunk."

Silva lit up and raised his fist in victory.

Scorpius wasn't disappointed at his loss, "So you got it! One-seventy to one hundred. That's not a poor go, is it?"

Albus half-smiled, "No, not bad at all." He decided it was a bad idea to admit that after giving great Chaser and Keeper picks to Scorpius, Al had taken his favorite Seeker and Beaters for himself. He'd never get that over against anyone who knew Quidditch figures. Al packed the teams back into the wood case. Silva kept trying to do his cheer (Al won with him so often the victory action would stick). He closed the case, fastening the snitch-shaped latch (a winged, golden ball) into place. "You know the snitch used to be a real bird." It was the smartest thing Al could think of to impress Scorpius.

Malfoy shook his head, "No, I didn't. They didn't kill it instead of just catching it, did they?"

"Yeah, sometimes." Al gave a weak, dopey nod. "That's why they started charming a ball. Runnin' out of birds."

Scorpius snorted, "Of course, typical wizards! Not because it's inhumane to kill an animal for sport, but because they couldn't hatch them fast enough." Albus stood to go back to the room. He bent over for his player box. Albus was distracted by the look on Scorpius' face, though. "Hatching ... What about that riddle to Ravenclaw's common room?"

Al didn't bother to conceal his surprise at the thought, "And I figured you'd be thinking about Fontaine. I don't know. Phoenix, flame, _not_ knowing, that's all." Had Scorpius been thinking about that during the game, too?

Potter offered his hand to help his friend up. Malfoy grabbed the Quidditch case with one hand and Al's hand with the other and absently stood, "But one of them had to come first. Like the chicken and the egg." He looked about at nothing in particular. Scorpius mumbled, "Where was that?" Then, more aware, he spoke right at Al, "Does your phone work? Mine was dead when I tried it."

Potter shook his head, "Left it at home. Is it an emergency? We could use my mirror. It's open send."

That idea distracted Scorpius, "You have an open focus mirror? But, no, I need the internet." Al shrugged. He'd left his phone behind when Rose told him it wouldn't work at Hogwarts. They headed back to the room. Scorpius stopped just outside and stared down the hall a moment. He followed Al to their room, but didn't quite close the door. "Should I ask her? She was on her phone, Monday, wasn't she?"

Albus shrugged again, "Could've been the room phone." Maybe they could call Lily and have her hold a tablet in front of the house mirror. She'd have to go out in the courtyard, but she'd help out - just to hear what it was like at Hogwarts if nothing else.

The memory must have come back to Scorpius, "No! She was sitting on the floor in the runed circle with a mobile in her hand when I came in." Scorpius eyes flitted about as he continued to process his thoughts. "But her answer. It _is_ the egg!"

It was Al's turn to correct, not that he much wanted to, "She said 'egg', but that wasn't a choice. But Fontaine's answer wasn't one of the choices either. Did you hold _her_ hand or did she hold _yours?_ I mean -"

"Come on!" Scorpius put the wand Quidditch case on Al's bed. He opened the door, stepped out and gestured for Al to follow. Rather than exit the hall as expected, Scorpius stood in front of Sam's door and knocked. Nothing happened. Scorpius knocked again, louder, and called out, "Miss Witherspoon!" He beat on the door and nearly yelled, "Miss...!"

The woman at the end of the hall cleared her throat. Albus about jumped out of his skin. He had not noticed her only a couple meters from them. She interrupted Malfoy, "Good luck, she has her music, as she says, 'up to eleven'." Albus wasn't sure why that would be an issue, most volumes went one to one hundred. Wouldn't eleven be really quiet?

Scorpius decided it wasn't worth the effort (of course, he had also ignored the questions about Fontaine). He grabbed Al's shirt sleeve and turned him around, then walked off quickly to the stairs. Climbing stairs was an awful way to talk. By four stories up, though, Al had to ask, "Are we going all the way back to Ravenclaw?"

"Yes." Malfoy gasped over his shoulder.

"But Fontaine already answered, are we going to ask her?" Al whined, and didn't feel even the least bit bad about it this time.

Scorpius didn't notice, "No."

To his credit, Al wasn't as out of breath as Scorpius when they reached the top of the spiral stairs at the base of Ravenclaw tower. Malfoy took awhile to recover, then rattled the knocker against the door, "Where does the time go?" came the door's question.

Albus half-gasped, half-sighed, "I guess it changes. Oh well." Al thought about how the trip down would have been faster if Rose was there to charm the steps flat again, or if Creevey installed a chute down the center tower.

Scorpius was on a mission, he (fully) gasped "Time go ... time doesn't stop? Yes! No, time is a constant, what's passed is past and the future unknown." The door opened.

Al was impressed, "Ah, there you go, you got -"

Scorpius slammed the door shut and used the knocker again. The door replied, "How many angels can dance on the point of a needle?"

"Oh boy!" Al slouched down the wall.

"That doesn't make any sense!" Malfoy complained. Al knew it was unrealistic to expect Scorpius to know everything, but he was still a little surprised. "There's no such thing as angels. Even if there were, what kind of needle, and what size?" They stood (or leaned) there for a few minutes and Malfoy tried to reason with the door (one, none, all of them, _each_ of them). Another knock got the door to repeat the question. Otherwise, it remained silent.

Several older students arrived, the boy in lead spoke between chomping and chewing on an apple, "What's the holdup then?"

Defeated, Scorpius replied weakly, "Angels dancing on a needle."

The apple-eater turned back to his friends, snorted confidently, then addressed the door, "As many demons can bathe in a thimble." The door opened. Scorpius dashed and closed it. The boy dropped his apple and his voice changed, "Eh! Wot da 'ell was dat?"

Scorpius was angry, "I need a specific question!"

The boy didn't care and was just as angered, "Den you 'ave yer fun affer we git through." He brushed Scorpius aside and banged the knocker himself.

"Where do vanished objects go?"

The Ravenclaw boy was disappointed, "Ah, I 'ate dat one."

One of the girls was as dismissive as the first boy had been to start, "Ha, Ahlenius! Your rehearsed accent and memorised responses, worse than an entry for 'Made-up Muggles'. Everywhere, and nowhere!" The door opened. Scorpius kept his place beside Albus.

Several minutes passed as Scorpius glared in the general direction of the door and Albus got his courage to speak, "Maybe -" Scorpius turned on Al suddenly, but said nothing. Al continued warily, "Maybe it doesn't give the same question twice ... in the same day ... or something."

Scorpius made a forceful step to the door and banged the knocker once, "What does a boggart fear?"

It didn't help Malfoy's mood, "AH! No! 'Egg' was right!" He looked down over the ledge, one of his hands clenched to the back of his neck, "I don't remember all of it, but Mother used a study in one of her papers, she corrected my teacher when _he_ said it wrong. The study said that a chicken had to be hatched from an egg with some ... gene or enzyme or protein or ... _something._ The point was, that without that thing, a chicken couldn't come from the egg. I know a phoenix isn't a chicken, but they _are_ both birds and the questions are _so_ similar. I just thought ... if it took something special in the egg for the chicken, then something had to be in the egg, or the flame, for the phoenix, but Witherspoon was right. None of the riddles' answers are simple, so, it has to be the egg. Everything comes from something, everything has a beginning." He stopped running his fingers through his hair to wave both arms out in exasperation. Al was nervous about him moving like that, upset, and so close to the (un-banistered) landing's edge.

A wooden thunk, followed by a heavy thud, came from the door. Al and Scorpius turned to see that the knocker had come loose from its setting, the back of it now a small shelf, a tiny wooden slide led down to a bowl-like dent in the middle. A rounded piece of metal wobbled about.

Sam

The cell's beeping went from ignorable to annoying. The battery was low. Sam grabbed the converter and opened the door to put it outside. Someone spoke to her left. Sam took out her headphones, "What?"

Skein was annoyed, "You enjoy deafening yourself with that garbage?"

Sam's ears were ringing. She felt stupid for putting the volume so high to drown out everything. That bad decision being pointed out only made her feel worse, "Better than thinking about what a total, grade-A dork I was today, or yesterday, or **always!** "

Skein stood and put her folded paper down on her chair, "Show your fangs again?" It was something more than just mocking.

Sam started to breathe faster, "Not for live TV, but I could now, right?" She forced a tight smile, "Still a full moon tonight!" She padded on her stocking feet out to the entrance hall, her chaperone swift to rise and follow.

Sara quietly threatened, "You open that door and-"

Witherspoon was excited, a gleam in her eyes as she turned and continued to step backwards, "And what? Isn't that what everyone wants? The truth?" The anticipation and resentment combined in her as she touched the door's giant handle, "Nothing but the truth? I'm just lying all the time, walking around them like _I'm_ \- like I'm even human! I'm just a monster, a -"

The woman's voice went cold, "Like your mother made you. She's quite the monster ... isn't she? She lies about it, too."

Sam's hands dropped to her side, her fingers barely curled in, her breathing deeper. She was scared of what would come next. She knew she couldn't stop it, but that didn't keep her from trying. She spoke just above a whisper, "Don't bad talk my mom."

Skein continued in a playful taunt, "Don't bad talk about the criminal? The con artist?"

Sam's voice rose, "Stop it. Shut up!" she clenched her hands into fists.

"Would you prefer 'thief' ... or 'thug'?" The handler taunted her charge.

Everything in Sam tightened. Her jaw trembled, her teeth chattered, "I said stop it, you can't call -" Her eyes welled up.

Sara walked forward as she asked mockingly, "Call her a traitor? A terrorist?"

The girl clasped her hands to her ears and shut her eyes, tears streaked down each cheek, "SHUT UP! Stop it! Stop saying-"

Skein reached Sam and bent over slightly. She brushed Sam's hand aside and nearly growled, "You keep it up, and you'll end up just like her, a cold-blooded killer, a murderous monster!"

Sam's eyes opened wide in shock as she looked up at her custodian. Her voice cracked from the strain, "I HATE YOU!" She ran back to the guest rooms, sobbing and wiping at her face. The door slammed.

Sara Skein stood straight and tugged her jacket into place. She splayed her right hand at arms' length. She then turned her hand in and closed her fingers to brush her nails on her coat. The click-clack of heels echoed in the hall as she stalked back to her seat.

Chapter 22 Egged On

The Headmaster

Professor Tomlinson caressed her temple. She pulled a pocket watch from her robe and sighed at the time displayed.

"Sorry, Mandy, sorry, Huff fives nervous 'bout their OWLs," Orinsworth strode to his desk.

Amanda raised her eyebrows, "Yes, I hear you have a penchant for disturbing Hufflepuffs."

Gordon collapsed into his plush leather chair and sighed, "Really, Mandy?"

She looked up, "Yes, I really heard it." Several moments passed as the two stared at each other. "Now, can we wrap this up? I already rushed through my session with our three unsorted students. Tim and the boys are waiting."

Orinsworth shook off his concerns, "History, I -"

Tomlinson was abruptly exasperated, "Oh Merlin! What do you expect me to do about Binns? Brocklehurst does what she can. How about this Defence professor of ours? I can't even stop him from terrorising the first years."

Gordon growled, "I thought you had somewhere to go. All right, if History's a wash, then Alchem-"

Amanda was insistent, "You and Jorval are supposed to have been reintegrating Slytherin. Did your speech help with that? You and he became fast friends when you stood up for him that first year. I remember, I was the prefect that broke up your ... vigorous defence."

The headmaster's annoyance got the better of him; he slammed the desk with his left hand and pointed with his right, "Yeah, well, you got some examples of who to look out for from somewhere else?!"

Amanda wasn't fazed in the least, she sighed through her nose, "Mundungus Fletcher, Gryffindor, not sure which is worse, how many charges he's had against him, or how he's managed to stay out of Azkaban. About that speech-"

" _One_ Gryffindor-"

Tomlinson verged into anger herself, "Have you read the departed James Potter's school record? Or the current one's? And don't make me go on about Peter Pettigrew: thirteen dead in one fel swoop, how many more after that?"

Gordon leaned back and sighed, "All right, but-"

"Rita Skeeter, one of our own."

The headmaster was incensed again, "And whose life did she -?"

Amanda leaned forward, "Put in danger? Potter's, the Auror one, his little gang, as well. And how about everyone who sided with Dumbledore? She meant to stir up gossip and collect some coin, but she (if you'd like to think the best of her) inadvertently dug up details that put people's lives at risk. Bathilda Bagshot might agree, had she lived to tell her side."

Orinsworth shook his head and held the bridge of his nose, "Least we have Hufflepuff-"

Tomlinson slapped the clipboard in her lap and straightened up, "Do-lor-es UM-bridge."

Gordon's hand dropped to cover his mouth, "Oh, Merlin, _she's_ a Hufflepuff?"

Amanda's tightened her lips and nodded, "Ever ask Potter about the back of his hand?" She held up her own right hand and pointed as if to clarify.

It was a distasteful thought, "He said - said 'evil doesn't think of itself as evil.' You'd prefer I make the students terrified of _everyone_ instead?"

"So glad you asked." The alchemy professor stood and held a small parchment strip face down on the headmaster's desk, "I'd prefer you put a little more thought to it, to a different start of year speech, a different tack in your classes. We're Ravenclaws, Gordon, why is it even _we_ look to the Gryffindors to set the example? By and by, Alchemy, Arithmancy, and Divination are going swimmingly."

Orinsworth drew the slip from Tomlinson and responded distractedly, "Thought we were curious what house Firenze'd be assigned to, weren't we?"

She shrugged, "You know I've been representing Firenze in these meetings for years, but that's based on a personal arrangement."

"And History?"

"When someone presents a plausible method for influencing Binns, I will be glad for the enlightenment."

Scorpius

The moments felt like an hour. Neither of them said or did anything. Finally, Albus slid up the wall to his feet, "Is ... that ... a phoenix egg?"

 _A PHOENIX EGG!? A PHOENIX! The embodiment of life, death, rebirth!_ The idea made Scorpius suddenly aware of the steep drop from the stairs. He rushed the Ravenclaw door as Albus approached slowly. Malfoy could barely breath, "I don't know."

Al took his eyes off the egg a moment and suggested, "Well ... take it."

Scorpius stepped back and snapped, "You take it!"

"You answered the question!"

"No! Witherspoon did!"

An airy voice came from the wall beside Scorpius, "Ah, but she is not one of us, nor did she present the argument." A chill like ice water coursed through Scorpius. He jumped at the shock. His feet landed just on the balcony's edge. Malfoy teetered as his arms flailed to regain his balance. He was quickly drawn back through the stinging cold and onto solid ground. Al had a firm grasp on Scorpius' robe (the vest beneath it, the shirt beneath that, the undershirt beneath that, and a bit of skin) with one hand and the small shelf of the knocker with his other.

Once he was safe, the pain registered, "Ow, Albus!"

Albus moved his hand from Scorpius' chest to his shoulder, "Sorry, mate, but the Grey Lady came out and you spooked." There was a pause as Al grinned and gave a brief giggle, "Get it? Spooked!"

All the startling moments prevented any appreciation of accidental puns. Malfoy focused on the newest event, "The Grey Lady? The Ravenclaw house ghost?" He looked over his shoulder to see the translucent young woman in a long, old-fashioned riding cloak.

She closed her eyes a moment and gave a slow nod, "As I am known. You spoke the case as befits one of mine own. You are rewarded with the bequest of Rowena Ravenclaw." She gestured to the door.

Scorpius backed up to stand beside Al. He stammered back to the ghost, "You, you mean your m-m-mother." He pointed to her and his excitement granted him new found confidence, "You, you're Helena Ravenclaw! You knew Voldemort gave the crown to the Lestranges! You, you told Harry Potter where it was!" A smile broke across his face, but when he turned to Albus, the other boy was not-at-all pleased with the exclamations.

The ghost thought before responding, "This is no longer my concern." She nodded towards the grey ovoid. "Mind our matron's gift, and it shall gift your mind."

The egg shook. Someone opened the door from inside. Scorpius quickly clutched the egg as he and Albus withdrew to the wall. The door swung to the stair's edge as some fifth year students exitted the Ravenclaw common room. A few of them glanced briefly at the young pair huddled to the side. When the door closed, the ghost was gone, and the knocker restored in its setting.

After the older students passed, Scorpius whispered to Al, "It's ... getting late, we should ..."

Albus replied quietly, "You sure about that, maybe if you talk about your time answer she'll give us some time travel thingy."

Scorpius was suddenly annoyed, though he remained hushed, "A time travel-!? There's no such thing as a time travel ... _thingy!"_

Albus spoke up (not that he necessarily meant to), "But - with magic?"

Scorpius started down the stair, the heavy egg held tightly to his chest. He hissed back over his shoulder, "Magic?" Then, he grumbled to himself, "What kind of world would we be in if wizards could just travel through time whenever they wanted. _A time travel thingy!"_

There was a screech from below as they entered the main stairwell. The duo looked at each other, but neither could make out what the sound was. They continued on without another word.

Back in the guest hall, the American woman was reading a newspaper. With Albus in the lead, it was a simple matter for Scorpius to conceal his treasure. Al waited at the door for Malfoy to enter and closed the door with a final look towards the entrance hall. "You don't think she'd know-?"

Scorpius grabbed a towel from the bathroom and arranged it on his bedside table, "Witherspoon's custodian? Witherspoon is her only concern I would guess." He put the egg in the makeshift cloth cradle.

"No, I meant Sam ... whatever." Al's concern reverted to the egg, "What are you going to do with it?"

It was an obvious question, but Scorpius hadn't thought about it ... yet, "I - I don't know. I suppose take it to Professor Tomlinson, she's the Ravenclaw househead."

"No way! She had plenty of chances to get it by now."

Scorpius found himself defending the absent professor, "It's not as if there were a banner: 'argue an answer, win a prize!' She - she might not even ever answer the riddles as the househead."

That only reinforced Albus' opinion, "Even more reason you should keep it! I mean, she had seven years as a student, didn't she?"

"Then Samantha-" Malfoy began to counter, but was interrupted.

"And the Grey Lady said she wasn't British, or Ravenclaw, whatever she meant. _And_ she didn't argue it, you did! Still yours! You should figure out how to hatch it."

Scorpius hadn't quite accepted that the egg-shaped thing was a true egg, much less that he might keep it himself; Albus saw no other possibility. "Hatch it?" Scorpius was beyond disbelief, "How do you propose I do _that?"_

"Well, you said your mother wrote about the egg," Al suggested weakly.

Malfoy countered sharply, "She cited a study, someone else's study and - and that was at Imperial, and about real creatures, and real science."

Potter was confused, "Phoenix are real."

He sighed, Albus was right, but Scorpius didn't want to admit that while at a school for magic he had let himself slip and reveal how much of magical reality he still perceived as actual fantasy, "Yes, but - they don't teach about them at university, even one as pres- prestige- as respected as Imperial."

Albus' thoughts raced, "Hagrid! He's right keen on anything dangerous. Charlie says he even hatched a dragon once."

Scorpius' mood darkened at the comment, "He IS the Creatures professor! Of course he's hatched a dragon, but a phoenix is - something else ... entirely," His own response brought up another issue, "And you think he wouldn't tell Professor Tomlinson right off? Or the headmaster, or Charlie?" It then dawned on Malfoy that he was just as interested in keeping the silver egg himself.

"Oh! You could look it up in the library. Dad says Aunt Herm was always in the library looking stuff up to save them."

It was - actually a good suggestion, a wonderful suggestion, the _perfect_ suggestion. Scorpius also liked the idea of he and Albus following in the footsteps of Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter: making discoveries on their own and, apparently, keeping said discoveries secret (something Grandmother Malfoy harped on as to how the trio often ended up in trouble). "She really is brilliant, isn't she?"

Al shrugged, "She snapped, mate. She's just a holiday planner now. I mean, she flies a 2010 Syarah. It's not exactly top o' the line."

Scorpius thought "snapped" was a rather demeaning way to refer to Hermione Weasley's difficulties, but he wasn't going to argue about it (it certainly was sensible for a witch with a family to have a reliable flying carpet). And the idea about the library was compelling nonetheless. "The library then. We won't be going to the Slytherin common room, anyway. We can go after classes tomorrow."

Albus yawned, "Right! Tomorrow."

Scorpius' curiousity over the egg was only briefly distracted by how easily Al could sleep when something so momentous had just occurred. While Potter snored, Malfoy gazed at his prize, tracing his finger across the cold, metal shell.

Sam

It was G.L.A. all over again. None of the other students liked Sam (except the Potter boy), the teachers were mean (well, Emmerlinse ... _only_ Emmerlinse), and people hated her mother (Skein was the only one to say anything). OK, it wasn't much like Groom Lake at all. Still, for the fourth night in a row, she had barely gotten any sleep (and it was usually only that first night that was sleepless back at the Academy).

Sam made certain everything about her uniform was right: shoes clean and shined, skirt hem at the knees, jacket sleeve cuffs at the top of her thumbs, bow-tie straight, (stupid) hair clips in place. Today was going to be ... genuine (and maybe, _hopefully,_ better).

Skein stood ready in the hall. Sam cut her off without looking up, "I love my mother. I don't care what you say, what anyone says. I just want to make that clear in case there was any confusion."

The chaperone eyed the girl with suspicion. She answered sarcastically, "Oh, I'm sure she _loves_ you, too. How could anyone resist such a darling?"

Witherspoon walked to the end of the hall, and stood at attention as if she was the only person in her formation, "Didn't say it was up for discussion." She stepped off with her left and headed for the great hall. Her timing was perfect, perfectly awful. The Slytherin first years, with Koverchenko, entered the hall just behind and nearly ran her over. Sam sat at the first open seat. The skinny, mixed-race girl stopped, along with a heavier (normal size) blond (totally white) girl, then the Ukrainian a ways behind them. The first girl addressed Sam suspiciously, "Professor Stalvan said you three would not be joining us except for classes."

Sam slapped the table where the food would normally have appeared. She looked up to the Syltherin first year (probably a "lead"), the girl's amber eyes a stark contrast to her dark skin. Her appearance distracted Sam momentarily, "There's only one chow hall, and it's a big table, I gotta eat somewhere today. U.S. embassy is in the Nine Hells district of Wands-are-worthless if you'd like to register a complaint."

The girl corrected Sam, _"Wandsworth,_ and -"

Albus sat down across from Sam and nodded to Scorpius as he walked off. Al smiled and asked, "Alright if we eat down here?"

Before the student lead could object, Alexei interjected, "Is for a day only. Let them be." The girl gave it a moment's thought before proceeding to the head of the table.

Sam noted that the second girl seated herself well before that, amongst the younger Slytherins ( _not a lead_ ). Sam turned back to Potter, "So, how does the breakfast thing work?"

"Where's breakfast?" Maybe Al hadn't heard her.

She was doubly disappointed, "Guess we've been dis-guest'ed. Maybe Ravenclaw -"

Albus held her arm to keep her from leaving and insisted to the air before him, "Gimme some eggs and stuff!" A plate appeared with eggs, bacon, hash browns and more (all the meals were overdone at Hogwarts).

Sam grinned wickedly, "OK then, gimme an omelet with cheese, ham, and scallops." A similar plate appeared for her.

Through his food, Al declared, "Scawwops!? Eww!"

She sat more formally and stated, "I like to start the day with a healthy dose of biblical culinary violations." She cut into the eggs and ate a bite, "You'll be glad to know while I got swine and thus meat with dairy, they left out the shellfish. Two out of three, I guess." Whether Al got the joke or not, he chuckled anyways. He really seemed to like her, even though they had only known each other a few days. And she hadn't treated him very well in that time. "Hey, sorry I snapped at you before. I've been real moody this week."

Al swallowed, "Got your mense, huhn?"

Sam grimaced, "Well, yeah. Breakfast isn't really the time to -," she dropped her fork and burst out in exasperated shock, " _Why_ do you know about that?!"

He had somehow managed to already fill his mouth again. Maybe he didn't get enough to eat at home. Sam knew plenty of kids like that, even at G.L.A.. The pang of sympathy reinforced her patience. Al held up his fingers each time he counted up, "I got four aunts, four cousins and a mother that get it, another cousin and a sister that don't, and grandmother, however that works, and every time a bunch of Weasley women get together, it always comes up."

She winced, "Seriously? Don't they have anything better to talk about?!"

He was chewing again, "Yeah? I don't even know what it means. I just know the guys don't like it because they think the girls get moody, and the girls don't like it because they don't get _that_ moody, or all the time, but they really don't like it if the guys say something about it."

The laughter overcame Sam and she almost banged her head on the table, "Hahaha!" She raised and shook her head, "That is ... a safe way of looking at it. I will tell you about it at some much later date ... when we _aren't_ eating."

Al shrugged, "Alright."

Sam resumed her meal, then thought os something, "Where did Malfoy go? That's his name, right, Scorpius Malfoy?"

"Err, yeah." Albus hesitated, "And I'm-"

Sam flicked a crumb at him as she smiled, "Al Potter! Thanks a lot, dork! I remember. _Everyone_ here knows your name!"

That depressed Al, "Yeah ..." He twirled a sausage link on his fork.

What Skein said about her mother came back in a rush, but Sam focused on Al instead, "Hey ..." she reached her hand out on the table, "at least they know him for doing something good, right?" He smiled wistfully before giving in and nodding. "Anyway, Al Potter is a real name, not some wizard weirdness like ... Scorpion Frownboy." Then, with Sam done talking, he started devouring again. While putting someone else's feelings first made Sam feel better about herself, she was also thankful she had kept her magical empathy in check on her own so far.

It turned out that Scorpius had gone to eat with the DuBois girl at Ravenclaw. Albus confided to Sam that the "couple" had held hands the day before and Al had interrupted with some poorly aimed paper airplanes. The way he told it sounded like the two boys were life-long pals. Potter might just be one of those people that made friends easily (and blondie had a girlfriend already). Sam started to blush a bit as she thought, _and his looks don't hurt, do they?_

A green flash behind Al caught Sam's attention. She looked up just in time to see a hail of eggs, whole and possibly solid, or worse, uncooked, coming at them. Sam was quick to call up some fire. She spread her fingers out and a fan of flame erupted behind Al. He ducked down, while each of the half-dozen missiles burst and burnt up mid-air. The trajectory went back to James Potter, who was cackling like a hyena. Sam stood up on the bench, made an inappropriate gesture and yelled, "Drop out, fade and learn a trade! Loser!" She received a quick response of scattered cheers and jeers.

Al was quick to stand, clasp Sam's hand, and pull her down, "Hey! Don't get in more trouble!"

He tugged at Sam to sit back down, and she did so with little resistance. "Your brother's a dork!" She blew some ash from her food, "And trouble from who? Look!" She pointed to the Gryffindors then the Slytherin table head. Al craned his neck to see. Victoire was standing, her finger at James and declared twenty-five points from Gyrffindor. Meanwhile, Georgia Stansfield was laughing, her wand held across her chest as she imitated Sam's fire wave (complete with a tiny flame of her own) with her other hand.

Scorpius, worried and breathless, grabbed Al by the back of his robes as he strode by. Al managed to scoop up his drink, turn in his seat, and catch up with Malfoy in one motion. Scorpius had a small collection of newspapers and a magazine. Al was either confused by what they had on them, or had serious issues reading. Sam hoped it wasn't the latter. She got on her own case for thinking that. She tried to focus on how cool it was that the food was teleported up from the downstairs kitchen, seemingly on demand, but then that made her think about how much that must cost (and it was really well-made), and the older Potter boy had just wasted six eggs. Then she felt guilty and ...

And she was saved from the downward spiral by Al's return. Before he could sit down, Sam suggested, "You should probably keep your back to a wall."

It distracted him from whatever news Scorpius had shown him. Instead of going around, he slid between the bench and table and ducked underneath. Sam's eyes popped wide as she slammed her knees together and held her skirt tight. Al missed her reaction entirely, "Yeah, good idea!" He pulled his plates over and went back to eating.

Sam glared at Al briefly, but he didn't notice. Sam decided to focus on the papers, "So, what's the news?" Even so, she kept her knees locked in place.

It stopped Al from inhaling his food, "Well, _The Prophet_ had some stuff about the delay thing, but, like, _The Quibbler_ had it, err, truer."

She was really familiar with either and tried to clarify, "Like, a blog versus a news site kind of thing?"

"Well, Luna likes to think the stuff in _The Quibbler's_ true, but _The Prophet's_ got all the real stuff."

Sam couldn't let it go until she figured it out, "So, more like _The Quibbler_ aggragator and _Prophet_ cable news?"

Al was confused, "Yeah?"

Something had to make sense out of this. Scorpius had sat on the vacant end of the Ravenclaw table after talking to Al. He was still absorbed in reading the articles and Sam was reluctant to ask Malfoy anything. Albus knew something (or so she thought), "So, what are the other papers he has?"

Al had finished his breakfast, "Huhn, others? There've been four _Prophets_ and the one _Quibbler_ this week."

That only made things weirder, "What? Then how come we haven't, or at least why hasn't he read these things before?"

The questioning had become too much for Potter, his response was rapid and strained, "None of tha students are s'pposed to get any papers 'til we're in a house or something, but someone got those from a pr'fess'r, and the delay thing is front page." Al twisted off the bench and quickly moved to Scorpius. Sam was about to follow, but Al was already on his way back with the magazine and all but one of the papers (Scorpius probably kept the newest one). Albus sat back down next to Sam, and laid out the papers beside her. "No one's even allowed near our rooms. I totally forgot about writing Dad, but Scorp said we wouldn't've gotten anything back anyway." The picture above the story was a sepia-toned shot of Orinsworth, a much older woman with short, spiky hair, and a boy wearing the sorting hat:

[prophet font]

HERO'S SON DELAYED! Sorting hat malfunctions for son of Chief Auror Harry Potter! The sorting hat of Godric Gryffindor failed to properly sort Albus Potter yesterday. Headmaster Gordon Orinsworth (above in his first sorting as Headmaster) refused to provide details. However, sources close to the students involved claimed that the young Potter would attend classes with each of the houses throughout the week. Extensive research by Daily Prophet staff reveals this to be the first malfunction of the sorting hat in Hogwarts' 1000 year history. Some speculate this might be a plot to reach the Chief Auror through his children. An anonymous source at the scene indicated that Albus's sorting of 'delay' came after that of the son of a renounced Death-Eater. (also read Style: Wizard tattoo comeback?)

[story font]

Sam looked up from the page. Albus was still forming the words as he read. She asked, "What's a Death-Eater?" Al shrugged, so Sam continued.

[prophet font]

No word has come from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on how far the investigation into this incident has reached or when official charges will be made public. Magistrate Weasley stated he could not divulge any information on such a case and Department Head Merriweather refused to comment on an on-going matter.

[story font]

Witherspoon sat up straight and laughed out, "Ha! You've got to be kidding!"

Al looked up, "No, I think Hogwarts really is a thousand years old."

Sam regarded Albus suspiciously. She decided not to say anything about him reading slow and picked up the magazine instead. It was folded open. She read aloud, "C-Ray specs, See what muggles See. Guaranteed to -"

Al glanced over and pointed to a small print entry between several advertisements, "There, that one."

[Quibbler font]

Headmaster Orinsworth stated the issue of delay was being handled within the institute and that the guardian of each child involved had been contacted on the matter. He informed us that the students would attend classes with each of the Hogwarts houses in turn for their first week, but refused to comment on any determination of house selection beyond that.

There is no indication that the Ministry of Magic has become involved in this situation. Henry Merriweather, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stated, "If there were an ongoing investigation into this matter, I would be obligated to withhold comment, however I can quite frankly say this is not a legal or criminal issue, and our department is not involved in the slightest."

[story font]

Sam shook her head, "Had to be a slow news day." She read off the other _Daily Prophet_ headlines, " 'Sorting Tragedy! Orinsworth Unworthy?', 'Delayed! The Fate of Hogwarts, The Fate of Our Children'. More like a slow news **week,** sheesh!"

Headstudent Stansfield and the Durmstrang boy stood and walked along opposite sides of the table. One group of students formed lines behind these two, while another group formed to march off in the other direction. Stansfield stated crisply, "Fall in on the tail, delays." Malfoy had already moved from the Ravenclaw table and Al was set to follow after. Sam looked along the table and saw the one group leave from the head of the table while the remaining (older) students set up in a similar fashion. Leaving early the day before with Ravenclaw, she had missed this much more formal departure. It was quite similar to how the new military at Groom Lake were treated. Emmerlinse wasn't even there to yell at them, but he was probably responsible for the system. It made Sam nervous about what stepping out of line today might entail. She stuffed the papers and magazine into a side pocket of her pack.

No one spoke on the trip down the stairs. The looks on Albus' and Scorpius' faces made it clear they were aware, maybe equally apprehensive, of the difference as well. When they reached the open doors of the Defense class, even the headmaster was more formal, "Punctual as always, Miss Stansfield."

The older girl responded in kind, "Will I be needed for another demonstration, sir?"

Professor Orinsworth shook his head slightly, "No, that'll be all, Miss Stansfield." The Slytherin first years continued to stand in two straight lines, without whispering or fidgeting. They moved forward when the instructor stood aside. Whereas everyone had been matched up perfectly in the Hufflepuff class, the Slytherins had an odd number of students: nine girls, eight boys. The "lead" first year girl was the odd one out in the two rows of students (there were no desks to start with again). The headmaster waved for the delays to join up. Sam thought it was odd that Scorpius would hesitate, as she was pretty certain he didn't want to end up near her. Then again, if what the headmaster did last time with pairing up continued in this class, Scorpius and Albus would already be matched. Sam strode over to face the odd out, Slytherin girl. When Witherspoon looked over to Potter, she caught Miss Skein standing inside the closed doors. Sam quickly faced forward. The headmaster spoke up, "Right, last session we determined what our greatest threat is."

The Slytherins' shout came suddenly and in unison, "Each other!"

 _What the hell?!_ Sam was disturbed. It was only their second day of this class, wasn't it?

The professor did not share her concern and continued as he walked, "And what is our greatest weakness in facing each other?"

Again, they answered all at once, "Fear!" Koverchenko spoke, rather than shouted. He leaned casually against the rear wall, but one raised eyebrow from the headmaster and the older boy stood straight like everyone else.

The professor reached a stool at the far end from Sam. He scooped up many silver loops from a wooden crate on the seat. "Fear of each other. Fear of the unknown. Take one each, pass tha rest along. A stunning curse, or _stupefy_ hex is one our most effective attack spells, but don't mistake it for being completely safe. Cast with enough force, at the right spot," he tapped the left of his chest, "it can _stun_ a beating heart. Alexei will not be casting it with such force nor with said aim." Despite their previous self-control, Sam heard a few Slytherins inhale sharply at the statement. "Additionally," the defense instructor went on, holding up one of the metal bands, "these bracelets will protect you from the duration of the stunning itself, and the long-term effects of repeated hexxing. Same thing the Auror Office uses for training and defence. While one of you lines out to find out what it's like to be stunned, and get over it, the rest of you will cast sparks at each other, get you used to having a human on the other side of you waving your wand."

 _A wand, of course!_ Sam thought. Unlike the first time in charms, where the Gryffindors had varied locations for their wand pockets, every Slytherin drew theirs from a leather wrist band that held the wand against their forearm. _Is Slytherin like the junior military kids? R.O.T.C. or whatever?_

The headmaster called out a student by first name (something bizarre, Natcher or such). A boy with a large, round head lined up along the wall in front of an enormous tasseled pillow. _"Stupefy."_ A red light flashed from Koverchenko's white, gnarled wand and struck the young Slytherin in the gut. He fell back on his behind. After ten seconds or so, it looked like he was trying to say something. He leaned up and poked at his face in an apparent attempt to get the feeling back (or check that it was still there).

The professor knelt and put a hand on the student's shoulder, "You're alive, right?"

The boy flexed his nose and cheeks, "Yes, sir. Feels queer."

Orinsworth took the bracelet from the boy and inspected it, he spoke up for the class to hear, "Take a look on the inner band, this should be set to ten! Mister Gneiting's is set properly. He's none the worse for wear, but was still stunned, if not for long. As I said last time, you will _always_ wear a dampening band or other protection charm for practice duels. Bailey!" A girl raced up to stand in front of the pillow.

The class, having seen it once already, did not focus as much on the second victim. Sam examined the bracelet. The girl across from her noticed, "Is something the matter?"

Sam gave it a moment's thought, "Not a big fan of silver. How do you check it?"

The girl approached. At first she reached to take Sam's bracelet, then awkwardly took off her own with her wand still in hand, "You trace the inside from where it's already set." There was an "X" inscribed on the inside, but as the girl moved her finger, the "X" faded and "IX" showed up further along the band. She provided more information, "You should wear it on your offhand." She placed it over her right wrist, her wand in her left. "That way it doesn't upset your aim and you can practice for blocking with an actual shielding charm. Downside of these is that they weaken any spells you cast, too."

Sam nodded and smiled, though it felt a little forced, "Thanks, name's Sam by-the-way."

She returned a brief smile, "I've heard. Leilianna."

It didn't sound right to Sam, "Lay-la-ahna?"

The other girl glanced to Sam's left (at Scorpius), then back, "Just Lee-la is fine."

From the other end of the rows came the professor's rough yell, "You two! Sparks!"

Sam rolled her eyes as Lila ( _Lee-la-anna?_ ) resumed her position on the other side. She stood stiffly, with her right forearm held out and across her chest. Lila waved her wand and a short stream of white sparks flew out. They didn't reach Sam, but she thought she should move aside anyways. The other girl was amused, "What was that for?"

Leilianna didn't seem mean about it, so Sam tried to be polite in return, "Well, we're supposed to be practicing, you got the shield thing up, so, I dodged." Lila smiled her approval and Albus nodded, mockingly dodged a volley of yellow sparks from Scorpius, and returned his own shot of green. Sam grinned and teased, "Did you try to match your eyes, boy?"

Albus gave a chuckle, "That's what Mum always says. I can't change the color though, I don't even know the real spell."

Scorpius added in, "It's not difficult, _scintilli."_ He sent out a much longer stream of gold flashes, "But it's always a bit brighter th-"

Leilianna interrupted, "Than a wave cast." She spoke in a much sharper tone, "Again, Master Malfoy!"

It was clearly a lighthearted "command", but Malfoy ground his teeth and cast, _"Scintilli!"_ in time with Leilianna.

The sparks struck Sam and whited out her vision for a moment; she had something else on her mind, "Master?"

Lila relaxed her stance and smiled, "Scorpius and I have the same magic tutor. She's very strict and _very_ formal. Children are 'mistress' and 'master', but don't mistake that for a title of respect." Scorpius seemed to smile in agreement, but was then beset by a flow of green sparks from Albus.

Headmaster Orinsworth continued to call up the Slytherins, and was nearly to the end, "All right, Potter, Malfoy, both of you!" Sam, yet to cast anything herself, preferred to watch how Albus took his stunning. Lila seemed just as interested, but, Sam guessed, about Scorpius instead (she didn't notice that _everyone_ watched this pair). Alexei's spell was a flash of red. Al made a funny hop before he collapsed onto the pillow. He fell on his side, but was none-the-worse for show.

"We'll be next." Lila said from the side. Sam looked over. The girl gestured for her to follow before she turned and walked behind the others (all sparking their sparky-spark sticks).

They were almost up to the instructor when Sam got out her thought, "But everyone else -" _waited to be called, what's so special this time?_

Or Sam would have said, but Lila spoke quickly back over her shoulder, "I'm a class leader, I shouldn't keep a professor, _the headmaster,_ waiting."

For a moment Sam wondered if this girl had just read her thoughts. _No, no broadcast, no reception._ It was an uncanny response, though.

Potter helped Malfoy stand up. Orinsworth gave the girls a backward nod, "Lelianna, your go."

"Thank you, headmaster." She spoke, and stood formally.

The professor had made more of a point pronouncing the name. Sam hated being wrong about anything, and taking the easy route on someone's name was even worse. On understanding it, she had to say it herself, "Lay-lee-aw-na, right?"

Leilianna grinned and faced Sam, "Yes, that's riii -" The curse struck her and she slumped far to the side, too far. Sam dashed forward, dropped, and caught the other girl on her legs. Lila started to move on her own soon enough. She waved her left hand as if to steady herself at the same time the professor leaned down. Sam grabbed the flailing hand in her own and held it tight.

"You two all right?" Professor Orinsworth asked with a touch of concern.

Sam thought of how she could have skinned a knee on the stone floor, except ... the pillow was under her, right where Lila would have landed. She yanked her hand from Sam's grasp, "I'm fine, I'm fine!" Lila turned over and pushed herself to her feet, shook her head and blinked rapidly.

Sam felt stupid, "Sorry, I'm sorry. I distracted you, and - and I didn't know the pillow'd move and -"

While the other girl seemed poised to accept the apology, the instructor didn't have time for it, "Samantha, you're up." He waved Sam to the designated spot. With added disappointment, Sam saw the pillow scoot along the floor in time with her. She looked up and startled. While she knew Orinsworth and Koverchenko would be right there (both of them intimidating in their own right), she hadn't expected Miss Skein's sudden presence behind them.

Sam hardened her stance and tone at the thought of last night's confrontation. "I'm ready."

Alexei was interrupted by an outstretched hand from the headmaster, "Silent cast. You're seventh year, can silent cast a simple spell like this, can'tcha?" The young man looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly surrendered any protest. The added instruction from the headmaster drew some added attention (only those right there had even noticed Sam's misplaced effort with Lila). Sam's face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to think out how to react like everyone else had, but it became difficult to think for a moment, what with the static in her ears, the red haze in her eyes. She lost her balance and staggered to the right. The spell had struck, and it was too late to fake the correct reaction. Skein looked wary. The headmaster spoke up first as if carrying on with his instruction, "Right, good example of what to look out for later. Silent and constrained cast spells, ones where you don't have full motion, have a habit of coming off weaker, less effective." Alexei puffed up in offense, but did not interrupt the Defense professor's speech, "This is a psychological effect on part of the caster, though. The way 'round it is to imagine yourself, as you cast a charm silently, or restrained somehow, is to hear yourself say the evocation, see and feel yourself carrying through with the action that your mind expects." He stopped himself short in the jutting swing of casting a stunning spell, then extended his wand arm out fully as he had described, "Even the most wizened wizard can miss this detail."

That seemed to settle the issue for the class, not so for Koverchenko, "Sir!" Orinsworth slowly started his way down one side of the rows of students as Sam sped down the other. He looked over his shoulder. The older student took this as enough acknowledgment to continue, "I **know** how to make up for the silence of a curse."

It stopped Sam's escape. _No! Let it go!_ she cried in her head.

The headmaster "reassured" over his shoulder, "We all make mistakes, Alexei, don't let it trouble you."

The dismissal only made the young man more adamant, "Sir, I did **not** make a mistake!"

Not only did Orinsworth not get upset, he seemed to relax, "Like when you asserted that illusions couldn't make up for real wizardry."

Sam wasn't sure why, but that was a sore point for Koverchenko, "There is a difference in the matters. There is something about the girl!"

"The girl?" The headmaster was unconvinced, "Human error befalls us all, or are you saying you aren't human?"

 _Clever, risky, stop it!_ Focused on the two men, Sam didn't see her handler hold closer than usual.

Maybe it would work, maybe the teen would back down to the man's challenge. But the "boy" was too proud, "Something is to her advantage. She cheats or-"

That accusation stung and the headmaster fired back accordingly, "Like a second counter charm? Except I am quite confident you've seen that the efficacy of such devices is non-cumulative, she could wear ten and it'd operate the same as one."

Alexei started to crack, embarrassed that his most likely claim was skewered so swiftly and precisely, "No, sir, I-"

How the headmaster had said it, the words he used, made Sam wonder where the headmaster came from in this British four-house system. Once started, however, Orinsworth was set on not just countering one argument, but destroying them all, "Or maybe she isn't human. A vampire? It's daylight out, she's under instruction to cast sparks at her partner, but excuses herself with a claim of wandlessness."

Sam's thoughts panicked, _No! Don't go there!_ and her voice was not far behind, "Sir, I can-" A hand clenched on her shoulder. Sam startled, looked up and back at Miss Skein just behind her. The woman made a slow and barely preceptible shake of her head, all the while, her eyes on the defense professor.

The reason became clear as Koverchenko sputtered his reply, "No, sir, of course she isn't-"

Everyone was keyed to the headmaster and his grim manner, "Of course not. You saw her display after Stansfield's little warning flash in the Great Hall this morning, and vampires can't do magic in daylight. So how about a werewolf? Full moon is up tonight, we could test that one easily enough."

 _NO!_

"Sir, in day it would not matter, but she would have turned last night, I am-"

"Wrong about the werewolf thing? Maybe a true-blood shifter instead? She'd keep control if she stayed inside, but she's shy a few differences in her every day appearance. How about half-giant, like Professor Hagrid?" Albus, alone among the class, barked a single laugh at the suggestion. The professor reacted with a glimmer of a smile. "Or maybe as Mister Potter suggests, she's a bit small for that, or very mature for a newborn."

Alexei slumped and almost pleaded in quiet shame, "Sir-" The headmaster stalked over to his Durmstrang exchange student.

"Or part doppleganger, demon, or a dragon mix perhaps?" The Slytherin discipline broke for several others at the suggestion of Sam having dragon blood. Orinsworth reached Koverchenko, and poked him in the chest for emphasis, "Or maybe," _poke,_ "Maybe, an overconfident student," _poke,_ "relaxed his training a bit, " _poke,_ "when he was faced with an eleven year-old." _poke, twist, shove._

The older boy rocked back on his heels, "Yes, sir. I may have-" Alexei meekly recovered his balance.

"Class!" All but Albus and Sara locked to attention, "You in rows, step back. _Gohspodzin_ Koverchenko, Miss Witherspoon, face off, each end."

 _He's done! Why push it?_ Despite her own internal protests, Sam moved down to Albus and Scorpius while the headmaster pointed Alexei to the other end.

"You got something that can reach your target from there, Miss Witherspoon?"

 _Range, yes! Safe, no!_ "Uh, does it have to be, uh, sparky?" She hoped humor would defuse the tension.

It didn't, "Everyone back up far as you can. Staggered cast practice duel. Witherspoon, go!"

Sam shook her head, but caught a glimpse of Skein's intense stare. Sam brought her arm up to her chest then flung out, a stream of fire lashed through the air. Koverchenko twisted and fell back. The flame descended and set fire to the ground. Several gasps emitted from the class who suddenly made more earnest attempts to put distance between them and the unpredictable burning line on the stone floor (then oh-so-weirdly made sure they were still in line with each other). Koverchenko was quickly back to his starting position, shaken. _Safe enough._

The defense professor stepped over the foot-tall fire to center on his older pupil, "An important thing to note with elemental magicks is they are not so simply dismissed as most charms," he swiveled at the waist, with his wand in hand, _"Finite incantatem!"_ The red ray hit the fire, but had no effect. He faced Alexei, "They must be specifically countered." The headmaster rotated about again, ending up on the other side of the fire from where he started, _"Aguamenti!"_ A thin strand of water sprayed from his wand. The professor's control was precise. He made one sweep to extinguish the crooked line of flame. "Koverchenko ..."

Alexei sighed and readied himself, _"Stupefy!"_

The red flash flew out. The spectators to each side, the instructor on the far end, all the tension and fear, Sam reacted instinctively. Her hand pushed out as claws of fire sprung forth and she ducked down. The magic of the curse mostly disappated in the flame. What made it through missed.

Koverchenko winced. Orinsworth made a tight grasp on the teen's shoulder as he spat out, "The point!" Sam flinched at how hard she imagined the headmaster's muscled arm and hand could squeeze, "The point is to silent cast. The mistake is to think about it as silent. Think yourself saying the spell. Think yourself hearing it aloud. Think the spell as strong as it should be. Think!" He turned from admonishing the already embarrassed student. He made certain to catch Sam's eye as he moved out of the way.

Sam fought back her smile, _Yes! 'Think!' Brilliant! You know - I know - you know - I can know! Yes!_

"Good defence, your attack, Witherspoon." Sam didn't know what else to do but more fire. The crowd made this an inappropriate forum for volcanic eruptions. But maybe something faster, more to the _point._

Alexei was more than ready, _"Protaqua!"_ A disc of water caught the spear of flame in midair. Her opponent flicked his wrist and the shield ran the length, leaving hissing steam as it went.

The headmaster gave an order, "Mister Koverchenko, again!"

The angry satisfaction shot forth ahead of the curse which landed quickly after. Sam's nerves stung as her sight glared out and she let herself drop. It all went black before she hit the ground.

Sam awoke with her vision blurred. She wasn't in the clinic this time. _Do the Brits magically heat their pillows?_

"Swift move, Potter." It was the Lila girl. She sounded a little less formal, annoyed even, but then, that could have been Sam's imagination.

Emerald green eyes and a bright, upside-down smile, the moment had the better of Sam, "You've got pretty eyes, Al." A chorus of "oh's" came from the Slytherins (mostly the girls). It all came clear, she was leaned up on Potter's thighs as he had apparently knelt to catch her (just as she had done for Lila). The idea of her laying on him and the stone floor seemed like it should be terribly uncomfortable, but the reality was quite pleasant, and that (along with everyone hearing her comment about his eyes) bothered Sam more. She turned and scrambled to stand up and get away. The display of embarrassment brought on a round of giggles and whispers.

Sam very consciously checked her hair, her uniform, and especially her collar. All that show would have been for nothing if the reality was revealed. Standing beside the entrance doors, Skein beckoned for Sam to approach. The crowd split as Witherspoon moved quickly to join the woman, but Sam wouldn't make eye contact. She said in a hush, "I didn't need your help." The rest of the class reformed their original lines as the Headmaster lectured them on duels.

Sara made as if to check Sam's uniform, as well, "Because you performed _brilliantly_ the first time."

That brought Sam's glare up to her handler's. "You distracted me!" she hissed. The girl forced down her anger, "How many people know?" She smoothed her hair down, surreptitiously checking her pigtails were in place.

Skein adjusted Sam's hair clip, "The Headmaster, clearly; his wife: the school healer; that gentleman who is something more than a groundskeeper; the Minister of Magic; and his Head of Law Enforcement."

Sam pulled at her already straight bow tie, "That many?" She blew out a trailing sigh.

Ch 23 Tarnish and Polish

Sam

 _No overriding emotions or accompanying outburst after Defense, check!_ Sam wasn't sure how to feel about her near outing, though. The Slytherins moved in formation once again. They didn't make military type pivots when they turned, but they all stepped on the same foot at the same time. Sam had tried to sort out what the houses were like by element on the train. Now high school movie tropes seemed more inline: Gryffindor preps, Hufflepuff losers, Ravenclaw geeks, and Slytherin ... _what?_ Sam wasn't sure about the ROTC thing (she'd only seen that stuff in movies), and she didn't want to go so far as to invoke "Godwin's Law". They behaved themselves, though probably not because they wanted to, but more like they were forced to.

Sam had expected (hoped?) Leilianna would sit next to her in Transfiguration, but it was the older exchange student instead. Between the confrontation last class, and now sitting so close to Koverchenko, Sam noticed how Alexei's jet-black hair made his light skin look even brighter, in turn making his blue eyes seem to dazzle. Sam stared forward. She was upset at finding the (much) older boy attractive and berated herself that it was some hormonal thing that had her thinking about Al, Alexei or any boy (or their eyes) differently. Then Gnasher Gneiting reached back to fetch his quill and parchment from his fallen over bag. There was some small comfort for Sam that she found nothing intriguing about the boy's oversized head and open-mouth breathing. She kept her eyes to the front of class.

"Slytherins!" The professor stood from his seat behind the front desk. Sam half expected them to yell back "Good morning, sir!", but the class remained silent. "Each of you have a wooden toothpick to transfigure into a silver sewing needle. Seventy-five percent of your grade will be based on material transition, illud est: wood to silver, twenty percent on utility of the final product, and five percent on appearance. As with most minor transfigurations your action is a swift tap, movement at the wrist. Your only applicable incantation would be _'cambia'_ , Latin for 'change'. Determination can, and should, make up for any focus provided from such a simple utterance however." He raised his eyebrows and waved his hand out with his palm up, "Mister Koverchenko."

Sam looked sidelong as the boy ( _man? Shush!_ ) tapped his wand lazily to the toothpick before him. Silver strands infused with a bit of black, then flitted out and wound tightly about the former sliver of wood. He held it out, then it flew from his open palm.

The professor used his wand to direct the needle to halt in the air before him, "Slight oxidization of the silver, five off; eyelet and body appropriate for intended use, full mark; spiraled pattern and tarnished grooves used to replicate a ... unicorn's horn, down to the tell-tale staining. Not that this will reflect as a recorded grade, but I'll allow the creative decoration to make up for the deduction on metal composition, full mark overall." The professor floated the needle about the desks, close enough for the students to examine. "Note that the needle is pointed, but not so sharp as to constitute a skewer, the eyelet is long and narrow, about five millimeters in length, the eyelet end is flat while the body of the needle is round. Alexei has made this a tapered spiral for added appearance, I do not expect such delicate work from first year students, thus decoration accounts for such a small portion of your grade. Miss Witherspoon?"

Sam's face contorted, "So, in our first week, we learn how to throw stuff with levitation, turn wood into silver, and get used to attacking someone?"

Stalvan did little to hide his amusement, "Overwhelmed?"

She shook her head, "No, just wondering if our midterm involves ambushing a werewolf."

The Slytherins broke their discipline to laugh at the odd thought. The househead ended it quickly, "Slytherins." He barely said it and the class fell silent (except Albus, who at least tried to quiet himself). "Are you confident you could inflict enough harm with even a volley of silver barbs?"

Sam smiled, "MAY-be! Potter says his aim is pretty good and I figure I can mass alt' cartons of toothpicks for him once I get the process down."

Even the professor smiled at the response. The class was afforded time for their chuckles to rise and fall naturally (which didn't take long as it wasn't _that_ funny). Stalvan's tone still had a hint of humor, "Inventive inclusion of three disparate courses of instruction: thirty points, such thinking will serve you well." Sam (among others) was taken aback at the serious consideration of her playful comment. "Now, for an incentive to achieve: twenty points to the first successful transfiguration in addition to relaxed marking. Do not, however, trouble yourselves if no one does so today. Lafayette, Peringold." Lila and a boy with short, spiky, brown hair went to the instructor's podium. "Each table will be provided a silver ring to examine during class. Our discussion notes are also available." Stalvan made a short wave with his wand at the top of the chalkboard and script cascaded in to cover the board.

The Slytherin notes were different and, of course, did not include the elemental equation. Sam twirled a toothpick between her fingers as she repeated the process she had used last time.

From her side came an interested observation, "Iron, excellent purity."

Sam replied absently at first, "Yeah, he gave me iron, but ..." then she turned to face Koverchenko, _No! Why does he have to be good looking up close? I barely noticed before!_ She decided to look at his hands, which were presently held against his chin, "but I don't have the formula for silver, and I need to balance out the equation."

Alexei snorted, "Heh! Balancing the equation, you sound like my father, like a - aaah - _muggle_ chemist."

It was a doubtful lead for Sam, who grimaced in response, "You happen to know the atomic structure of silver?" Rarely did Europeans study science _and_ magic. Then again, maybe she should have done her "homework".

He laughed, put his hands on the desk and pushed back, "No, my mother's metallurgic lessons are not like my father's."

Sam sighed and faced the front again (as looking at his hands was a little weirder with them on the desk's edge). He was so at ease talking to her, maybe he - _NO! He's more interested in your "cheating" than you!_

Professor Stalvan, though helping at another desk, stated louder and seemingly to no one (at first), "Think of the properties, Miss Witherspoon."

She mulled it over as she concentrated on the iron strand in her fingers. It glowed briefly.

Koverchenko made his assessment (too loudly), "Steel. High carbon, similar from Kryvih Riy, close to cast iron if you were to ..."

"That's not happening." Sam was calm, but very serious. She looked over at Stalvan, who moved to the next desk. Maybe it was too much to hope he'd have another bit of advice.

It wasn't, "We wouldn't want any repeats of your performance in Professor Thomas' class. Are you certain fire is the answer?"

Sam held her face in her hand as she dropped her steel toothpick. "OK, not fire." She grabbed a new toothpick and rolled it between her figertips and thumbs.

It looked much better: whiter, lighter. She turned and smiled at Alexei, _he is seventeen, you are eleven!_ Sam bit her lip to prevent any further smiling.

Koverchenko helped deaden her smile even more, "Aluminum, most of ours is imported, this is not likely an acceptable alternate - alternative."

A couple tables up, Lila bowed her head in worry, "So sorry, professor, I didn't mean-"

"Of course you didn't." He made a sweep of his wand over his hand, "Concentrate on the shape, Leilianna, smooth the edges and you may exceed my expectations of first year students. None of your Ravenclaw peers were as capable." Then, he announced again as he moved on to Potter and Malfoy, "Silver is denser than iron, not _less_ so, Miss Witherspoon."

Sam rolled her eyes. She continued with the aluminum. Same components, except ... the metal glowed, tighter. Her snort of satisfaction was cut short.

"Steel, corrosion resistant. My father worked testing in Mariupol on corrosion resistant steel, more commonly -," but Koverchenko was interrupted by Sam in return.

"Yeah, yeah, stainless steel. Still not silver, dammit!" Her temper was getting the better of her. She took a moment to breathe, to try to relax and concentrate. _Fire consumes, water waits._

Alexei was more curious about Sam's method than offended by her (lack of) manners. He made a 'U' wave of his wand, "It is as if you have used phosphorus instead of chrome, though. That is a much older process."

Sam _was_ offended, though, "Hey, don't mess with it! I'll get it!"

The instructor could barely be heard across the class, "Take more time to examine the ring, Mister Malfoy, consider the difference in its properties. Then, _please_ share your observations with Potter. I shall endeavor to ascertain where to begin with him myself."

While Sam took some satisfaction in knowing Scorpius wasn't cruising ahead of everyone like he did in Charms, it sounded like Albus was doing a lot worse (or maybe the Slytherin teacher just didn't like Gryffindor offspring). She decided she'd be better off keeping her mind on her own work and started with another toothpick (steel and stainless steel cast offs in front of her). Sam cupped her hands to hide her progress until she was satisfied. She took a deep breath, steeled (!) herself for disappointment, and offered the results to Koverchenko.

He nodded and barely smiled, "Impressive, sterling silver. I think-"

"The assignment is **silver,** not a silver alloy that does not tarnish, unless you intend to make up points in decoration from your loss in composition. A poor ratio of exchange than the inverse." Stalvan had somehow snuck up behind them. Both students startled, though Alexei less so, and he recovered swiftly. Sam could relate to his disappointment in himself as he shook his head and glared at the ceiling.

The girl with Lila had her hand up as she almost hopped in her seat, "Oh, Mister Stalvan, sir, Leilianna nearly has it!"

The instructor gave a light pat on Sam's shoulder as he strode back to the front of the class to examine the claim. Maybe the touch had been meant as comfort, but that just made it all the more infuriating for Sam. Sure, the Lafayette girl had been nice enough in Defense. Then again, she knew Scorpius, hell, they had the same tutor. She'd questioned Sam over even sitting at the Slytherin table and _grrr!_ She flicked the sterling silver toothpick at the box and grabbed another wooden one. _Metal crystal, pure, dense, can tarnish, but -_ "That's it, it's not symmetrical. Still six earth, dual core with an air each, but one with fire, other with water ..." Alexei pushed back from the desk.

The appraisal of Lafayette's work was qualified, "Excellent progress, it will require an eyelet to be more than a straight pin, though."

 _No! I am getting this first._ Sam looked at everything she had. She pushed her chair back and stood. Her hand turned to obsidian. She dug a small pit into the desk. A globe of water collected between the fingers of her other hand, which she dropped in the gouge with a splash. Her blackened hand took up the steel sliver, both bright with heat. Sam, with her normal hand, held the new toothpick/needle over the water. She inserted the hot steel through one end of the other piece, then quickly removed it and dipped the pierced bit into the water. Nearly done, Sam sat in her seat, and carefully rolled and rounded the needle-to-be across her skirt. Satisfied, she held it upright on the desk and looked beside her where Alexei had been, then back to where he actually was, "Well?"

His eyes were wide. He craned his head back and responded nervously, "Silver, _dah,_ quite."

Sam didn't have time to figure out his weird behavior, she raised her needle in her right hand, "Sir!" hit the desk with her left - and it became obvious why Koverchenko was acting strange, and that she hadn't paid enough attention to her work.

Professor Stalvan carefully measured his path to Sam. She was anxious as her eyes darted about, but continued to hold her results aloft. The Transfiguration instructor plucked the needle up as Sam released it. He held his wand tip to the needle. A stream of blue silver swirled through the air as he withdrew the wand, "Silver, for certain: full mark. Rounded shaft with a flat head, the eyelet ... useable, though wide and uneven, ten off. Scorched, discolored and a jagged rim about the eye, full loss on appearance. Now -" The professor traced his hand across the desk, "this is to be returned to its original wooden state and the divot replaced ... to earn full credit for being first to finish." He raised one eyebrow, "By the end of class if you will."

The silver desktop drew a lot of stares. Sam's pride at making the needle first was cut down by the glaring error. Leilianna's desk mate was annoyed, but Lila herself had a small (maybe impressed) smirk. Whatever it was, Sam was too focused on the desk.

Alexei was as bothered as he had been when Sam hadn't been stunned the first time, "Is it not tiring to make such a large change? At your age ..."

He was still far enough back to not see everything. She thought about it and quickly wiped her forehead with a bit of magically condensed water before she turned around, "Yeah." She slumped sideways and leaned into the chair. Sam sighed and spoke as if she were wiped out, "Just ... felt so stupid since I got here, and Alteration is, like, my best subject ... pretty dumb, huhn?" Her best subject, but not as similar as she thought to its British counterpart.

Koverchenko took his time to respond. He had to be considering whether his suspicions in Defense had some new piece of evidence. Sam desperately wanted to read him, but figured in this less stressful moment, someone his age would not only detect the attempt, but could easily block it, too (especially being from Durmstrang, the only school _close_ to the paranoia level of Groom Lake). After less than a minute (though it felt like an hour) he broke the tension, "I will return the desk."

"But Stalvan said -"

He stood before the desk, his wand raised, "His direction was the desk be wood, not by whom." He traced about the edges before making the final flick and tap. The desktop relaxed and expanded as if was releasing a long-held breath.

Sam reacted likewise, "Thanks." She righted herself on the chair and pulled up to the desk. _Did I really need to show off?_ She absently pulled one of the newspapers from her pack and started drawing out shapes for her elemental work in the margin. She answered herself, _It IS my best subject._

Scorpius

Their joint tutoring sessions had focused on charms. Transfiguration always had the impression of being more difficult. Leilianna, of course, had a good deal more attention from their tutor. Not attending any regular school gave her plenty of time to practice, too. At least, that's what Scorpius told himself to justify how she had done so much better. Samantha on the other hand ... he would have rather had Lila finish first. It was her house, after all. But why couldn't he calm down and focus ... in a class with Slytherin? Some answers were so clear once the question was asked.

Like Albus had said, Scorpius' friend (Leilianna) was in Slytherin, as Scorpius' mother and father had been before. And Voldemort, and nearly every one of his Death Eater followers with him. The only noble representative of the house was Severus Snape. Even then, his life was always described in terms of doubts and questions, his reputation uncertain. The one hero Slytherin could claim was tainted.

 _The Daily Prophet_ made it seem that Scorpius had something to do with Al's delay. No, it hadn't said "Malfoy", but were there any other renounced Death Eaters? Scorpius doubted anyone would be confused into thinking Grandfather Malfoy had a new son attending Hogwarts. There was no way around it, just being in class with them made Scorpius anxious. He'd held hands with a girl, made his first friend at school, been stunned, found a metal egg possibly left by a founder, and all he could do was wonder which of the eleven year-olds around him would end up a criminal. Or worse ... which ones already were.

He had to think of something else. His needle had come along. The entire piece was silver this time. Except ... he bent it to examine it. The thin foil of metal ripped and revealed the cracked wood inside. For the third time he only had an effect on the exterior. Scorpius comforted himself that his results were more consistent than Al's: a small pile of sawdust and what appeared to be a limp, wooden noodle. Al noticed Scorpius' eye on the failed attempts, "Well, just gotta make the O's inta E's and I'm set, right? Noodle, needle?" It was hard to not join in with Al's smile, even at an awful joke. "So, what's the secret? I mean, you knew the levitate thing."

 _Yes, but levitation is a charm_ , Scorpius thought to himself. Stalvan's lessons on properties and associations had made more sense than the book's ideas on the "innate truth of the material" and its "essential place in nature". "Well, you were the one that brought up that silver melts instead of burns."

It discouraged Albus, "Yeah ... that's how I got the noodle." Neither could help but laugh. The professor cleared his throat just a little too loudly to be coincidence. Scorpius corrected his behaviour quickly enough. Albus rolled his eyes, grabbed another toothpick and leaned his chair back on two legs. It was risky, and made Malfoy anxious all over again. He forced Al's seat forward, twisting it slightly, accidentally landing one of the legs on his own book bag and - _the egg!?_

Scorpious scrambled to discover the fate of his treasure. He felt the towel, dug into it, found the cold metal and rolled it in his hand. The egg was whole, no breaks or dents. While he had managed to stop worrying about the mystery last night, he couldn't bear to leave it in the room lest the house elves find it, recognise it, and return it ... to its rightful owner? The sorting, Albus, Slytherin, Fontaine, the egg, and he wasn't even halfway through Thursday. The bells signalled that Tranfiguration was over. Koverchenko stood by the exit doors as the others gathered their books and wands ( _where had they all found those wrist sheaths?_ ) Scorpius rushed at a chance to solve his most recent dilemma, "Mister Koverchenko, I overheard, err, that, well, you seem to know what a metal, or where a metal, or a sample at least, of metal, comes from."

Alexei looked at young Malfoy with a mixture of curiousity and amusement, "Were you to ask a question? Both my parents practice metallurgy, from differing, ah, views. It is of great importance in Ukraine."

Too many students passed too close (and were too Slytherin) for Scorpius' comfort. Urgency gave him the courage to pull the Durmstrang student to the side (how could he trust someone sorted to Slytherin and _from_ Durmstrang?) Scorpius clutched the bundled towel close. If he showed him just a bit. He pulled back enough to expose a few square centimeters and held it up for the teen to examine.

Koverchenko handled this as well as anyone who had a child shove something in his face. He craned his neck back, then cautiously forward. He ran a finger across the surface.

A call came from the passageway, "All right, and where the devil are Koverchenko and Malfoy?" It was Georgia Stansfield.

The mystery would have to wait. As the two moved to join the formation in the hall, Alexei gave a halfhearted apology, "I am sorry, I do not know where it is from."

 _Of course it wouldn't be so easy._

"But I believe in Europe, the Urals have the most of platinum deposits."

 _Platinum!_

Ch 24 Write at Home

Albus (and Scorpius)

 _Oh no! Please no!_ They had marched down to the first floor. Albus had figured out that the Slytherins were seriously not fun. They were way too well behaved. It wasn't like with Scorpius either. He was just one of those nice guys. It wasn't forced with him. The Slytherins though ... Albus could tell, just below it all, they did what they did because they were worried what would happen if they didn't. Al wouldn't admit it to himself, but he so often did the same. Then again, it wasn't the marching that bothered Al so much as their destination: Muggle Studies.

It didn't seem to matter if the headstudent smiled, she still looked like she had it out for them, "All right, Slytherin. No jokes, no chatter, muggles make up ninety-nine point nine percent of this world. Some o' you don't even know what 'point nine' **means**. So listen up and take the class ser'sly." If she had to warn everyone, then she knew how bad the class was. Al sighed and his shoulders heaved as he prepared for another hour of "how the entire world lives". One line of students started into the class. Scorpius didn't look any happier about it. "Malfoy! And Potta. You two already done this. The Professor has something else for you." Samantha hesitated (right in front of him), Al should have made some joke about Gabble to her, except Stansfield gave Sam an accusatory glare, "Did I say Witherspoon? You took a break last time, get on in!" Too bad for her, but at least Al and Scorpius didn't have to go through it again.

The Great Hall was a short trip from Muggles Studies. There were mostly older students there (fifth years), though it was early for them, and they weren't sitting by house assignment. Koverchenko tapped and tugged to get some to leave, while Stansfield barked orders, "Up 'n' off! First table don't make it _your_ table!" A large area was cleared out quickly. Georgia quieted down to address Malfoy and Potter, "So, seems you've seen the papers," Scorpius tensed up, but Stansfield went on, unconcerned, "Headmaster wants ya ta tell your side of it to your parents. I got legal reassurance that your owl posts'll be secure. This won't be endin' up in the news." From family gripes, Albus knew Mister Stansfield was a solicitor, though he did _not_ know that the Malfoys were one of his more frequent clients. "So, get ta writin'." The two older students sat nearby, but faced away to warn off any intrusion.

Al ripped a sheet from his parchment roll and set it out. He whipped his Endless Ink Quill ( _Fast-Dry, No Stains_ ) to the side to get it ready. And ...

[bad print]Hey

[story] _Mum or Dad?_ Al tapped some dots at the edge. Before he'd arrived at Hogwarts he had planned on writing his parents every day. They seemed of less importance now, what with them so far away.

Scorpius worried he didn't take enough parchment for what he wanted to write. He had most of a roll left. He could always use more, but how would that look that he hadn't had an accurate idea of how much - _Stop it, write!_

[passable cursive]Dear Father and Mother,

I am sorry The Prophet has more information on the sorting than I have told you. But it is not all true accurate. I did not do anything to the Sorting Hat. The Hat spoke to me, but I did not ask it to, it said

[story] Scorpius crumpled the sheet in frustration. It was only a few lines. He flattened it out, made a crease and tore away the first draft. He started anew.

[passable cursive]Dearest Father and Mother,

The plan we devised did not go well. Either Hogwarts has changed or I did not apply myself. Or I did not apply the plan properly. People sat in the same cabin on the train, and across the lake, and I met -_

[story] He sighed. He folded the letter back and disposed of the second attempt. The plan didn't matter anymore. He needed to understand why, though.

[bad print]Hey Dad

[passable cursive]Father and Mother,

I did not mean to draw attention with my sorting. Neither of you told me that the hat would could speak. I did not know what to do. [angry print] Now I might end up in SLYTHERIN. You were both Slytherin and you HATED it. But you WERE Slytherin and they're going to make me TOO! The PLAN didn't work! I don't know what to do and it's [strike-through] ALL YOUR -=FAUL=- [scribbled scratches]

[story] Malfoy ripped away his third draft leaving the parchment jagged and crooked. His breathing was rapid and shallow.

[bad print]Hey Dad

James chased us and that why the alarms rang. ASK ROSE!

[story] Scorpius straightened the top edge. This wasn't being sent to some people he read about in a book. These were the father and mother he lived with, went on holiday with, that cooked for each other, that loved him and tucked him in at night.

[neat print]Dear Mother and Father,

Hogwarts is very impressive. The zoo is amazing. Professor Tomlinson is my favorite teacher so far, but Divination is interesting the way Professor Firenze teaches it. You probably already know there are several exchange students this year. I met a girl from Haiti, her name is Fontaine. She is a year ahead and enjoys divination and astrology. I also met Albus Potter. We are staying in the same room. He is funny and I think you would like him.

I am sure the headmaster will solve the sorting problem, but I am worried.

Your son,

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy

P.S. the American student doesn't have a wand. Is that unusual?

[story] It certainly didn't cover everything on Scorpius' mind ( _Who was that woman at the train station?_ ). For now, it would have to do. Albus was right behind him, he could try to talk to him, but Scorpius didn't want to put Georgia in the position of having to correct (or punish) him.

[bad print]Hey Dad

James chased us and that why the alarms rang. ASK ROSE! And Scorpyus didn't make the sorting hat delay us. Hes really smart and the profesors like him and he wouldn't do that. Didn't Uncle Ron and Aunt Mionee hate each other for years? Scorpyus and Sam don't like each other either. Sams from America. Shes neat. I think -well- -wel'l- we'll get along when they figure out whats wrong with the hat.

Love,

Al

Oh, can you owl me that book? And tell Mum

[story] _Tell her what?_

[bad print]And tell Mum what you told me at the train.

Sam

Hogwarts just got weirder and weirder: a vampire allowed to teach, a centaur cool with humans, a food teleporting cafeteria, and now, within the ancient stone castle, a living room straight out of the 1990s. The television was one of those fat, glass screen things like they had at the bus terminal. It even had one of those cartridge movie players ( _VDR? VZR?_ ) Was this the instructor's quarters?

"Good morning, students!" Gabble, the Hufflepuff househead, wore ... a normal dress. While it reinforced the idea of this being someone's home, it also gave Sam the feeling that there was someone or something normal at the Institute for Fairy Godmothers.

The teacher went on pointing out the light switch, and had a few people try it themselves as she explained how it operated ( _electricity, shocking!_ ). These kids could kinda march, they answered when called on, none of them seemed so dumb they didn't get how lights worked. _Seriously! What is this class about?!_ "Um, Professor Gabble?"

"Miss Gabble, dear, or Missus for a married woman, muggles rarely use titles like 'professor' or 'madam'."

Sam's eyes bulged and her lips puckered. _Really? Not sure if stupid or trolling._ She spoke haltingly, "Uh ... are we - is this class - are we going to be learning how to measure electricity or, like, how it conducts?"

The professor smiled, and answered pleasantly, "Oh, don't worry about such things, the electricity currents are kept quite safe in the wires, and the nuclear action stations are contained far from where most people live."

Witherspoon's mouth dropped open and she barely breathed, "'Nuclear action', for real?" The instructor went back to showing the students what composed a normal's living room. Sam held her hands in front of her, one over the other. A strand of water flowed from her right hand down to her left. She tried to toss the water back up, but it only scattered the drops in her hand. She rotated her hands to the sides, and the water dripped down. "Nope, laws of reality intact."

The girl that had been sitting with Lila in Transfiguration was toward the rear of the group with Sam. She wasn't paying attention to "Miss" Gabble either, "Can you do that with electricity, too?"

Sam grinned slyly, "I wish. Do British magicians really not know this stuff? How a house works I mean." She had tried to keep her voice down, but it wasn't enough.

Lelianna turned back and hissed, "Portia, Sam, _please!"_ she put her finger to her lips.

The girl with Sam, Portia, wasn't entirely cowed though. When Lila faced front, Portia shook her head "no". She tugged at Sam's sleeve and pointed into the kitchen. It took a moment to notice the corded phone hanging from the wall, like the house was a store or office or something. Both girls started to giggle.

The teacher held up various plastic devices from a small basket, "And these use inferred-red to signal changes to the show onscreen. They can alter the broadband source the pictures come from or what happens in the pictures."

She was wrong, just _wrong._ Sam gave a brief thought to the issue of points, and so confided to Portia, "Infrared maybe? And broadcast, she means _broadcast._ And she's gotta mention that you can't just interact with any show, it has to be one you downloaded, or a game, or an app."

The lapse by one person encouraged whispered replies from others, Portia first, "She's got two remotes and only one telly, and no satellite or cable box."

A boy added, "And three controllers and not one console!"

And another, "That motion reader resets eva' time ya move it, and she's got it in tha basket."

It drew the lead student's attention again. Lafayette hissed, "Please, people, we can control ourselves through this!"

Sam snarled and was going to snap back. Except, well, the girl did say "please". She wasn't insulting or acting like she was better than the rest of them. She even acknowledged (or at least implied) this class was something they had to tolerate. It was impossible for Sam to let it go completely, "She's stupid."

The spiky haired boy rounded on Sam, "So don't take notes, stuff it!"

No "please", borderline insulting, and a definite superiority attitude. She was ready to launch on him, but the other commenters nodded in resignation and mumbled, "Yes, Perry," or "Yes, Lila." No one else was going to talk back ... and why should Sam ruin it for everyone else? She looked at a shame-faced Portia who grimaced and raised her eyebrows in reluctant acceptance.

Unaware of the subdued confrontation, Gabble had continued, "Radios and telephones receive megahertzes from the air, while televisions use coaxing cables or optical fibres, and computers can use either. Computers can gather information from anywhere on Earth!"

"What about the winter nets? Saddle lights?" Sam gasped facetiously. Lila cringed, but neither she nor Perry said a thing to stop the pervasive snickering.

"Of course, those of us blessed with the dominant gene for magic need not use such devices, but we must be aware of them."

"No!" Unlike her previous comments, Sam's latest outburst was loud and clear.

Gabble stood up straight (she had been leaned over as if they were first graders), "Excuse me, young lady?" The rest of the class was curious, as well.

Her jaw was clenched, Sam couldn't decide to make fists or hold her hands flat, "No, magic **isn't** dominant! Spew what you want about how normal people live. Maybe the morlocks you know have landline phones and bulging screen 'telee-vees', but no, just - NO! Magic is NOT dominant."

Clearly (rightly), Gabble was offended. Still, she maintained a mature calm, "And you have evidence to support this claim?"

Sam shot back in exasperation, "Besides **science?** Besides that half the world isn't already magicians? OK, sure, eighteen of us, statistically, two or three of us have two NON-magic using parents, anyone? C'mon, should be at least one."

Leilianna's eyes and lips tightened a moment. She said under her breath, "Porsh."

The other girl looked a little confused, "But you said, ehn, all right." Portia took a deep breath and spoke up, "Neither of my parents can do magic." It was as if she was coming out.

Gabble moved to end the discussion, "I hardly think -" but she was cut off.

Sam picked for confirmation, "And you're not like adopted or a step-kid or, well, your mom and dad are yours, for sure, right?" Several students laughed, even Portia herself.

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "pretty sure."

Before the teacher could get a word in, Sam continued her argument, "See, if magic was dominant, then one of her parents would _have_ to be a magic user. Then there'd never be _allll_ those historical anecdotes of kids doing weird stuff their parents didn't understand 'cuz it turned out the kid's a magician."

The teacher still acted like she held the upper ground, "Then how would you explain a half wizard couple having all wizard children, or a wizard and witch with a child that couldn't do magic?"

Sam was beyond annoyed, "It's more complicated than that. The gene isn't _strictly_ recessive. It 'encourages' the host to pass it on, some think phermones even push the magic user to pick the _right_ normal, or bring two magic-potential normals together so they'll have kids, and while the odds favor them having _some_ non-magic offspring, they often have nothing but mage kids due to combinant influence. And null talents? They've got all fourteen magic alleles, gene pairs, recessive. Instead of ending up ultra-strong, they turn out duds. Which doesn't have much of an effect beyond them since they're dead ends."

Professor Gabble's eyes narrowed, and ... something else. Sam was tempted to read her as the woman spoke, "Dead ends?"

Skein was right outside. She was there to stop the outbursts that threatened others. As long as she didn't use her special abilities, this outburst threatened only Sam, "Yeah, null talents, squids, whatever it is you call them, are sterile. Regardless, point is the gene for magic is **not** dominant, or else it'd be as common as black hair and brown eyes." _Why go off, Sam?_ _No one cares what you say!_ Sam berated herself. She wished she would give up on what was right or wrong. Either way, the teacher surrendered the issue and went on. The damage was done, though, and the Slytherins continued to mock the class in whispers and giggles without correction by the teacher nor the class leaders.

It didn't take long to get to the Great Hall from Muggle Studies. Sam wasn't sure where to sit. The Slytherins, of course, proceeded up their own table. Al sat at the end of Hufflepuff, but so did Scorpius. Sam stood at the empty end of Slytherin's table.

"Hey!" It was Portia. "I - Lila, err, Miss Lafayette said you weren't going to eat with us, but, I wanted to ask you something." She was nervous and anxious for permission (or so it seemed).

Sam struggled to remember the girl's name, she had just heard it, but ... _a car, something rich._ "Porsche?"

"Yeah, and you're Sam. Are we - are we allowed to eat down here? With you?"

"I ate 'down here' once already, I think I'm just not supposed to eat with _all_ of you." Sam had an inspiration, "And I get to ask you a question, too."

Portia smiled, "All right." They sat across from each other. Lunch had those little menus again. The food appeared seconds after each girl selected (Portia with her wand, Sam with her fingernail). "So ... neither of my parents are a wizard or a witch."

Sam smirked as she chewed on her bite of food, "Yeah, I got that."

The other girl tilted her head to the side with a slight smile of embarassment, "I know, but, well, you asked for someone else, so, I guess your parents both are - but I mean, does that matter? Lila told me I shouldn't go around telling people my parents aren't, you called them 'magicians'."

Sam scrunched up one cheek, "Two magic parents for me, yeah, but, I mean, who cares? My biology teacher showed us that it's pretty random how much magic potential anyone has, 'cause some of the gene combos have different effects, it's not all two plus two kind of stuff. Did she say it, did Lila say having normal parents was bad?"

Portia took a bite of beef from her fork and relaxed. She shook her head 'no' and chewed, "Not, not _bad._ Well, maybe. She said some of the Slytherins might look down on it. Like I wasn't 'pure' or something."

"That Stansfield girl doesn't have magic parents. She's headstudent, I doubt that's a gimme position. And the Malfoy kid said your house isn't all purists, but I got the idea they used to be." The interesting parts were easier to remember for Sam. "A purist family is gonna dead-end eventually, anyway."

"That makes more sense of it. Leilianna says her family's been in Slytherin forever, and she says _they_ aren't pure. And she's been the best to me. She's really smart, and," Portia looked about before whispering, "she's really nice when no one else is around. She was even fine with you finishing the needle first." Her tone indicated that Portia wasn't so fine with it, but had caved to Lila's opinion.

Keeping secret how nice someone was confirmed Sam's suspicion: Slytherins were the trouble makers. Eating with them, studying with them, probably would give that up, and so Stalvan was going to keep any outsiders _out._

The Perry guy came up behind Portia and tapped her shoulder, "That's enough for your question, c'mon."

Though the girl resigned herself to leaving, Sam grabbed her hand and looked to the boy, "Deal was I get an answer in return. Gonna make Porsh break her word?"

Peringold was uncertain, "Look you're - then ask! Hurry it up." He didn't leave, though.

Witherspoon brushed the air for him to go away. His resignation matched Portia's. He only took a few steps. Sam released Portia's hand and leaned in, "Tell me what the hat said when it sorted you."

Portia took a deep breath and made sure she was quiet enough for Perry to not hear, "It did kinda speak ... but just to me ..." Her wariness revealed this as an even more dire secret than someone being of normal parents or being nice (that idea amused Sam to no end). "It said I'd meet all the right and wrong people and learn how to, I don't know, keep on a line or something between them. I don't remember it exact, does that make any sense?"

Sam smiled confidently and licked her teeth behind her lips, "Tons." Portia shook her head before she darted off with her Slytherin classmate. For a moment, Sam fixated on Portia's plate, but it vanished (perhaps to catch up with its owner).

Any happiness faded at Skein sitting down across from her, "Ravenclaws like being right, correcting errors, rewarding wits, drawing out secrets. You like intelligence, solving mysteries, puzzles. Wouldn't want to disappoint your father, would you?"

 _Intelligence? Wits? Dammit I need that now to say something to_ \- Inspiration struck. Her fake innocent excitement was layered with enough sarcasm to drown the entire hall "Oh, more story time? You going to tell some lies about Daddy now?" _Perfect!_ Sara's jaw barely dropped, for barely a moment, but it wiped the smugness from her face and, best of all, caused the woman to stand and leave.

Sam had picked the oddly named sandwich just to see what it was ( _Monte Cristo? Did Edmund Dante make it?_ ) With how lunch had gone, she decided it was now her most favorite meal ever.

Ch 25 High Stakes

Scorpius

There was so much more he thought to write after his letter was collected. Scorpius realised he should have split the letters up, one to his mother, cheerful and teasing at once, praising the zoo ... and how all those other children would have made quick snacks if they had rushed a horntail like they did a (caged) spitewyrm. Another message for his father, on issues practical and discreet: would he be able to visit on family day, had he ever heard of a metal egg? Then, perhaps influenced by how his father thought, Scorpius decided he could just write another letter, one that did not go through anyone else's hands (regardless of Georgia's reassurances). Albus mentioned having an owl. There were some bright moments in this awful, torturous week.

Their next class was Flight. Broom flying, unprotected rocketing through the air on nothing more than a wooden rod a few centimeters round. Scorpius could not think of a realistic, yet nonthreatening way to describe it. Ten different charms to defy gravity and keep the rider in control. Any of which could go wrong and leave you face first in the dirt. A malfunctioning car could be steered off the road, balanced on four wheels, with intelligently designed metal framing, padding and air bags all around its occupants. This was a stick that (you hoped) someone else had cast the right spells upon it.

Scorpius and Albus followed the Slytherins out to the courtyard. Lila's new friend and a round-headed boy were setting out two rows of broomsticks, one on each side of the walled area. Emmerlinse, enveloped in his hooded robe, pointed and spoke, but he was too far off to hear clearly. The boy moved one broom, then he and the girl ran back to line up with their class. The professor wasn't quite as loud as he had been on Monday, "Slytherins, on your marks! Move it, move it. You three dim-wits, at the end, unless America wants to lose a week of midnights." Their being set apart must have been the adjustment the vampire directed. Was one arm's length supposed to be enough to separate them, to protect them?

The Hufflepuffs arrived. Scorpius had stood by the broom furthest from Slytherin, Potter next to him, and Samantha just past him. Leilianna, like all the Slytherins, stared straight ahead, yet moved subtly. Without looking, she slid the broom under her feet to her left. She made the maneuver gracefully enough that no one else noticed. Suddenly self-conscious, Scorpius shifted his attention elsewhere.

Emmerlinse also chose to focus on the Hufflepuff students, "Oh for God's sake, they're all the same! Get next to a broom and stop lolly-gagging about, Puddlelumps!" The two houses were faced off with each other, the delays as an awkward extension to the Slytherin line. The professor moved to the far end glancing back and forth as he went (or at least his hood moved in that manner). His volume was just below a yell, "In days gone by, broom lessons started in the classroom: the principles of motion, the rules of the sky, the etiquette ... of wizardly riding. However," his gruff demeanor verged on wistful, "my predecessor," it lasted only a moment before he rapidly berated them, "rightly decided you thimble-brained brats wouldn't understand the finer points of flight without a broom in your boogie-encrusted mitts. So ... wand hand out and over a broom. Declare 'up!'" Scorpius had braced himself for the entirety of Slytherin calling the command at once. He was instead flustered by the sudden, separate cries of "up". There was a crack. The professor turned on Samantha casually, approached her, and spoke more softly, "Where's - your - broomstick, Witherfork?"

Samantha clutched her hands to her chest. She sneered and retorted, "Oh yes, utensil jokes, haven't heard a million of those, crypt-breath. You said 'up', I said 'up', it went up." She held out her hand. it was red and starting to swell. She looked up and aside, then slowly lowered her gaze.

Emmerlinse pulled his hood back as he turned, just enough to gain a better view, "Morton, back up!" A broken broom head landed near the end of the Hufflepuff students. It wouldn't have hit anyone even if no one had moved. Emmerlinse was upset regardless. He rounded on Witherspoon, "You know how much those cost?!"

She grimaced and shrugged, "No! Why would I want a ride I can't use outside a wainscot? It's not my fault it broke! What about my hand?!" She flicked bits of wood from her sleeve, then shook and flexed her hand.

Fortunately for Samantha, someone else provided a distraction. Unfortunately for Scorpius, he was that someone. "Mama's-foy, what - are - you - doing? I said 'wand hand out', not 'wands out, in hand'." It would have been bad enough to just have the professor correct him, but the giggles and snickers of Hufflepuff (a few from Slytherin) were too much for Scorpius. His jaw clenched and his face went red. He wished he could turn into some volcanic golem and break the broom in half. Instead, he struggled to calmly replace his wand in his robe pocket. "Well then, who here besides Splinterswoon and Malt-boy hasn't ridden a broom before?" Only the one Slytherin girl raised her hand, five Hufflepuffs. Six other people out of forty, it gave Scorpius a small measure of comfort. Well, seven others if he included Witherspoon.

There were so many more important courses at Hogwarts: Transfiguration, Charms, Alchemy, Herbology and Creatures. Scorpius had made sure to prepare for all of them. And in this first week he had seen that even Divination could be more than he had thought (History and Muggle Studies were just as underwhelming as expected). Flight though ... he had already planned on taking the remedial course. There would be fewer people, less embarrassment. It was what Mother had done. Even Mr Malfoy rarely rode his broom, and then only for work.

"Wake up! Pay attention before your face pays the price!"

Scorpius saw that everyone else (except the non-wizard born and Samantha) had mounted their brooms. Al showed off, leaning back and turning in place. Scorpius held his broom between his legs, but was not floating as the others were. The bluff at least got rid of the professor. He marched off to correct the other neophyte fliers.

Al took the opportunity to help in his own way, "C'mon Scorp, it's like the levitation thing. Ya gotta tell it 'stead of askin' it." He swiftly kicked his leg over the rear of the broom and tossed it aside. It had not even touched ground when Albus held out his hand and called, "Up!" The broom snapped back into his grasp. Scorpius couldn't track the ease with which Potter was once again astride the broom and tilting it back as he slowly spun. "The Perin Pirette is a lil' more complicated."

Leilianna reared back slightly on her broom. She gauged the distance from her to Emmerlinse and turned back, "Peringold's Pirouette _is_ more complicated." She held the broom back until it was upright and stood on the broom's pedals. Lila kicked out one leg and curved it in, making a quick 360 degree turn, "It's not just," she relaxed her stance as she continued to turn about as Albus was, "a simple pivot." In the time Leilianna faced away, Al levelled out and kicked off towards her. He pulled up as he came close and turned about faster. When she came back around, her broom handle clacked against his and she stopped in place.

Lila scowled and Scorpius called out quietly, "Al, stop it!" She made her own move to dissuade Al. Leilianna dropped her grip along her stick while pushing forward and leaning back. Her stick slashed down along Potter's striking his hand with an audible snap. Naturally, he flinched back, but that only exposed his leg to be hit, as well.

Albus hopped to the ground and clutched his hands to his leg with a bewildered expression, "A Severen Slap? That's illegal!"

She raised her eyebrows,"You got _that_ maneuver right. And it's not illegal as a counter."

Samantha burst out laughing, "Ha! She gotcha, Al."

Instead of upsetting Albus, as Scorpius expected, Samantha's mocking cheered Potter up. He smiled as he responded, "Hey, don't break this one, alright?" He picked up the broom and held it out for her. Leilianna, along with several of the other Slytherins, watched Witherspoon, ready to witness the second broom destroyed (as they had missed the first).

Scorpius used the lack of potential attention to dismount and make another attempt, "Up." It stuttered as it rose. Malfoy pulled it up and tried to ride it as he would a bike. The foot rests were much further back than pedals, though, and a bike was only pulled on by gravity, not by unpredictable magic. With care and effort, he was able to sit fully astride. His nerves eased slightly until he felt the broom begin to slide about on its own. At least he had more success than Witherspoon.

"No, Al! I am _not_ hiking my skirt up to get a better seat. Leilianna, a lil' lady advice over here." Both Al and Lila were amused as Samantha tried to sit sideways and the broom flipped out from under her.

Leilianna dismounted and asked, "Do you know how to sit side saddle?"

"There's saddles for these things? Gimme!" Scorpius almost laughed along, but he saw Emmerlinse headed back to them. Samantha continued, unaware, "How, **how** do you do this?"

Lila made a point to do everything slowly. She turned the broom on its side so both foot braces were on the same side, she crossed her legs at the ankles, sat back and lifted her legs together, resting her right foot on what was now the bottom brace, "Like that."

The professor reached them, "The coven of incompetence got yourselves in order yet?"

Samantha, of course, did not hesitate to bait the vampire, "All hovering, Nose-fer-pootin'!" Her broom swayed and skidded, but held aloft.

Emmerlinse shook his head. He barked orders to rise, then turned and stalked about ensuring everyone kept up. Scorpius wasn't sure if he should be grateful that the vampire started at Leilianna and Peringold (surely he was related, but not the originator of the similarly named maneuver), and left the delays for last. Scorpius would have preferred Leilianna's deliberate instruction over Al's much more rapid demonstration, but perhaps it was best he kept his distance from anyone, from everyone, in Slytherin.

Albus

The Cleansweep 14STs weren't as bad as James had said. That should have been obvious before. James loved getting Al and Lil worked up about stuff, even if he had to lie. Still, Flight class was a little disappointing. It made sense to start with basic controls, but _boOoring!_

Maybe the zoo clean-up wouldn't be as bad as James had said either. Except Louis hated it, too (a more relaible source). He had a right to complain, too, seeing as how it was one of James' "stunts" that had set Gryffindor back and put them in the zoo at the start of last year. From what Hagrid had said, though, the older students would face the dangerous side of things. As Slytherin approached, the several older students there pointed and chuckled. The entire showgrounds was taken up with rows and stacks of cages of small creatures. Wamble, Stansfield, and Koverchenko led a three-headed dog, nearly two meters tall, to the far side of the stands, where there were two large carts, one covered in a black canvas, the other a giant, empty wheelbarrow.

Stansfield launched into her juniors, "Put those happy thoughts of flying on tha back shelf, ya lil' snake bites!"

Samantha was suspicious, "'Cause bites from young snakes are the most dangerous?"

The Slytherin headstudent smirked and responded proudly, "Quite right," then she reverted to bully mode, "cuz they got no discipline, use all their venom in one shot! Even a few of you forget it and you'll be right here all year round! Well-known secret that pr'fessors give out and take away more points from first years than anyone else. Lafayette's at twenty-five, Peringold twenty, buncha ya with tens and fives, keep it up!" Another class arrived, led by the dog-nosed bloke from the train. Albus was shocked to see the boy was a second year with how Lafayette had ordered him around before. Stansfield nodded at the second years' arrival. "And on the matter of points," she glanced back and forth quickly, the other older students were apparently far enough off, "You'll be glad to know the first and sec'nd year Gryffs are twenty behind." The news earned chuckles from the gathered Slytherins. Even Al was amused. He knew Rose would be trying oh-so-hard, and hate seeing Slytherin get ahead of them. Several people (including Sam) didn't seem to care, but no one was going to be upset by Georgia's comment. Except Scorpius, he seemed disappointed, but why would it matter to him? "Right then, same thing as last year, Nott, 'cept now yer in charge. Get this done and you er Donohoe find me er Wamble to get everybody back in their pens."

Dog-face's name was Nott. He didn't seem sure what he was supposed to say, "See here, we - you - the cages gotta be cleaned out, of all the, err," The Slytherins groaned and giggled at what Nott might say. Instead of joining in, or being in the least bit amused, he got angry, "Hey! Listen up! First years get everything out of the cages." Nott made the same glances about Stansfield had, only this time to make sure _she_ wasn't close enough to hear, "And we, the second years, will wait out here ta take the stuff up ta Herbs and whatever."

The other second years grinned smuggly, while the first years dropped the good kid act.

"No way!"

"Can't make us!"

"Tell Stansfield!"

Leilianna was upset, about what, Al was unsure even as she spoke, "Stansfield said Ted - said Mister Nott is in charge." She made her point by walking over to the bucket laden carts and picking out an apron, waders, and gloves.

Al knew, between the train, and everything else today, Lafayette was the real leader of the first years (and maybe the second years, too). It was strange how she acted like an adult. Scorpius was able to talk like an adult, but he was still nervous about the sorting (and running from James). He was OK with spying on someone else, and with hiding stuff from the adults. This girl, she was something else. Al wished he could be someone else, not her, but someone who could stand up to Nott and take him down a notch.

Lucky for Al, that someone was already there. While the second year Slytherins went to the stands and the first years moved to follow Leilianna's example, Sam stomped up to Nott and yanked him around, "Hey! You think you're Mister Hot, don'tcha Nott?"

The boy was annoyed, "What?" He took a moment to figure out what was going on, "Look, you're not in Slytherin, you don't wanna get your lil' suit dirty, then don't!"

Well, Samantha had gotten out of it by talking back. Except ... that wasn't enough for her, "No! Stansfield said you're in charge, be in charge, dammit!"

Ted Nott, along with everyone else, was confused, "What is your problem? All right, I'm in charge, you get in there and dig in and scoop out. Enjoy!" He turned back to join the other second years.

Sam stayed on his heels, she wasn't done, "You're supposed to show us what we are supposed to do. You're supposed to make sure we do it right. You're not gonna just get out of this because you've done it before."

Finally, Nott got riled enough, "You're nothing. You aren't Slytherin or anything else, you're not even British!"

The Donohoe girl chimed in, "Ay!"

Nott's anger slid into exasperation, "Or _Irish,_ or Welsh or Scottish. I bet you don't even know the difference. Everyone but you and your boyfriends know what they're supposed to be doin'."

For some reason, this made Samantha interested, maybe even excited, "Oh, a bet? A 'way-ger'? More on that later." She resumed her angry rant, "No, they don't all know, or else Stansfiled wouldn't have said this would be, and I quote," Sam attempted an Australian-bent British accent, " 'same thing as last year'. If you had done this on Tuesday, she would have said that, or not said anything at all about it."

The logic prompted Lafayette to speak up, "Professors Hagrid and Longbottom went over how to identify which, err, dung can be combined, they have labels for, err..." She pulled out a spiral bound pad of parchment paper, "Nitrogen, potash, and protein. And we learned that carnivores, err, anyway, the second years did all the work."

Witherspoon was even more enthused, "So ... lookin' for payback, Nott, are ya? You mentioned a 'bet'?"

She certainly had a talent for confusing people, especially Nott, "What? What bet?"

Sam gave a short nod, "What Nott and wotnot? So, as I understand it, we first years are supposed to get all the manure out here, and you second years get it up to Dungbottom. How long does it take to get it out, and how long to move it?"

Ted was uncertain, "Like ... forty minutes to shovel it out, and-"

"No shovels."

He shook off the thought he had, "Whatever, forty minutes to get it out and-"

"How long to move it up the hill? I know your first year was a long time ago and all, but think back, seeing as we're here because of last year's results, as your first year was responsible for the most points lost and least points gained, so you probably spent every afternoon out here."

The first years laughed and howled at the insult. The second years added their own replies:

"She don't know what she's talkin' 'bout, Teddy!"

"Put 'er in 'er place, Nott."

"We'll show her, Junior!"

"It weren't ev'ry week!"

The encouragement from his peers had Nott smiling, confident, "And 'bout ten minutes ta get it up the hill. Whatta you wagerin'?"

Sam wasn't fazed, "'K, forty to ten. I bet we first years can dump our load out here faster than you second years can get it up ... the hill." The piercing laughter of the second years startled the caged creatures who joined in and made the noise even worse. The older students paused in the distance to figure out what had happened. Stansfield was busy with a caged baby dragon (or was that a protodrake?). It looked like Terrance Wamble offered to investigate in her stead. Witherspoon didn't wait for the noise to die down entirely, "So, you ac-cept?"

Teddy Nott wasn't as certain, "No wands, and, err, none of that volcano stuff, either! I heard about that."

Samantha shrunk and couldn't decide what to do with her hands. She grimaced and shook back and forth, "OK, OK. Yeah, that's fine, no wands, no magma form. Wager time: first years lose, I do doo-duty all year, second years lose, you do doo-doo instead." The silly word play earned subdued chuckles from both sides of the spectators.

The older boy was still unsure, "You're not in Slytherin, you lose and end up in another house and you'll just skeeve out."

The formerly cocky girl grew nervous, "It's not like we're gonna get to pick, and I'll do it anyway, all year, we got a credible witness."

"Witness?" Nott startled at the light touch on his shoulder, he rounded to find Terarnce Wamble at his side.

The Hufflepuff headstudent kept up his stern but-not-quite-serious act, "Oh, I believe she means me. Rest assured young man, I will enforce the outcome if you both agree to the terms."

Albus couldn't tell if it was the pressure from Wamble, the cheers from the second years, or the taunts from the first years (minus a few stuck up kids on either side, not that Al thought Scorpius was really stuck up, but ...), but Nott had to work up his courage to answer, "All right, you gotcha self a bet! You gotta get all the dung in these barrels faster than we can get 'em up the hill"

Sam anxiously added, "You gotta get the _dung-filled_ barrels up to Professor Longbottom!"

"Yeah." Teddy was obviously disappointed at losing the possible loophole of getting empty barrels up any hill.

Terrance nodded, "Then you have yourselves a wager. Time starts when your group enters the main wing, Miss Witherspoon."

All the Slytherins shouted and called out, fingers were pointed along with many rude accusations. It was as wild as a contested foul at a Weasley family quidditch match. Al joined several other first years as they rushed to Sam's side at the zoo's main entrance.

The first year Slytherins' questions and suggestions ran over each other:

"What's the plan?"

"We could get it all in the barrels then dump 'em."

"What were you **thinking?** " The last plea was Lafayette.

None of it upset Samantha. She wasn't in the least bit concerned anymore. "There is a plan. I like the dumping idea, but I don't think we'll need it. I was thinking of making this happen. You wanna help or argue about it?"

Lila sucked in her lips, "What do we do?"

Sam smiled broadly, "You wanna help?" They all nodded. "Open everything up, then get out of the way."

Lila protested, "But ... you don't even know which -"

"You got no reason to trust me, just do it." Her grin was decidedly wicked, and Al knew this just _had_ to work.

Al ran into the zoo with the others. They went along the back passages and opened the doors. Everyone continued to yell as they rushed:

"Aren't we gonna scoop it to tha door or something?"

"She said open all the doors, so open 'em."

"Nott's a piece of -"

Al quickly chimed in, "Then make sure he ends up in a barrel!" That earned a chorus of laughs.

"C'MON!" The Slytherin first years gathered in the central hall. Al paused at the older students watching from the stairs to the aquarium.

Potter's wavering grin was noticed by one of the boys, "Go on, get! You kids aren't foulin' our tanks. What's with all the yelling?"

Albus blurted out how he felt, "No time!"

"Al, hurry up!" Scorpius cried from the main doors. The other first years had already run past, leaving Malfoy the last one waiting in Witherspoon's path.

Her face was wound up, and she kept curling her fingers into fists then letting go as she licked her lips, "Outta the way, pretty boys."

Albus ran ahead. He threw up his hand to Sam as he passed, but she clumsily backed up, "Gah, Sorry! Messing with my focus." She turned right and out of sight.

Scorpius stood off to the side of the stands in front of one of the older observers. Al suddenly questioned, "Hey, where were you? I did the wyrms, it's got the fewest doors."

Malfoy nodded in return, "I didn't think of that, but someone had to open the small mammals' doors. All forty or more." Though Scorpius started sullen, Al's suppressed chuckle lightened the mood. It didn't last long, "You think she can do it?"

"I don't know, but -"

Someone interrupted Al's doubt, "Of course she can. That's the frightening part." The statement was grim, "She achieves anything she sets her mind to." Al realised it was that lady that followed Samantha around. Why did Scorpius stand by her instead of sitting in the stands? Potter decided he and Malfoy should join the other first years before any more weird comments were made.

Wamble looked from his watch to the zoo entrance, "Five minutes ..." The first years mumbled among the stands. As time went by, the second years got louder.

Nott had to act the boldest, "Lot o' hot air and -"

Had Albus been warned, he still wouldn't have been sure what came next. He eyed Nott as he traced the trigger strand on a string of stupefy bombs in his pocket. Maybe the first thing was when he noticed Wamble's eyes near pop out of his head. Or it could have been the stench. If Al had figured it out soon enough (not that he knew the charm) he might have cast up a bubble on his head, too (as Wamble quickly did). Instead, he clutched his face in his hands, but that wasn't enough. Everyone else did something like that: covered their faces in their sleeves or pulled their robes over their heads. Or maybe, the thing itself had appeared first. It didn't really matter, it was disgusting and mesmerising at once.

The thing was brown and green and black and yellow in all the worst ways. It was nearly the size of Hagrid. The monstrosity stopped. It was slimy and dripping and parts of it fell off. Yet each bit that dripped or broke away flopped and slid along the ground back into it. The vaguely human shape lurched a step or two one way, then another, on an indirect path to the barrels. It scraped the palms and backs of its hands on the edges of first barrel, then wiped and collected up parts of its dung covered form to fill the container. Splatters and spills flowed back into the main body over and over. The thing shrank as it went on. Underneath, it was made of some kind of grey stone. _Was that Sam?_ The first barrel was close to the brim, the second one a little lower, the third empty. Fire spurt forth from the thing's "fingers" and "toes". The waves of flame passed steadily over its limbs, body and head.

Wamble called out, "Eight minutes! You left a barrel empty, Miss Witherspoon."

The thing was still over two meters tall though, and even when she had turned to the lava rock or stone forms before, Sam had looked at least something like ... well, human. It turned to Wamble then back to the barrel, raised one leg and put its foot on the top rim. Metal bent, wood cracked and splintered as the stone creature stepped down. Chunks of its "skin" broke off, tumbled along its body, and plopped into (and filled up) the lower barrel until it was obvious it really was Samantha, using her elemental magic to become some two-layered stone monster.

Nott protested, "No! I said, we said, none of that rock changing rubbish, and no wands!"

Sam literally burst into flames. Flesh and clothes once again, she countered, "Uh-uhn! You said no _volcano_ stuff, and no wands."

The Hufflepuff headstudent interrupted, "Eight, thirty-three, final time! Nothing very volcanic about that, and I've yet to see Miss Witherspoon use _any_ wand."

Scorpius spoke up, "She used Albus' wand on Monday, and she told Professor Stalvan she'd used Miss Xiau's yesterday."

 _Really, Scorp?_ Albus was rather disappointed in Malfoy's tattling. Apparently Lafayette agreed with a scowl and a sharp slap of Scorpius' shoulder.

Terrance didn't mind, "Still, no wand now, and, as you both agreed, no pumice, basalt, obsidian, wait, was that granite?"

Samantha was mockingly shocked, "No! I knew the rules ..." Then she was slightly disgusted, "had to go with shale and limestone, bleh, I could _feel_ that gunk trying to seep into me, ick!" She shivered.

Wamble raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Seems you have eight minutes and thirty-three seconds to deliver, Mister Nott." He saluted casually.

Another second year examined the barrels with obvious disgust, "It's all mixed up, Longbottom isn't gonna take it like this!"

Nott seized on the new objection. All he managed was an upraised hand before Wamble clarified, "Nothing in the wager stipulated how the 'materials' were gathered or extracted. Nor was there any requirement, beyond without wands, as to how you deliver your goods," he snorted and smirked, "Miss Witherspoon is American and not accustomed to our ... _sorting_ practices." Though Wamble managed to stay serious, few others did.

The second year Slytherins turned to plot and argue. Meanwhile, Witherspoon and Wamble joined the first years. Samantha smoothed out her skirt and jacket, then warily sniffed her hands, "Porous stone, ick."

"You're going to smell little else than that trap you set for Mister Nott." Wamble was clearly impressed, "I'm not certain if you were daringly bolder or moreso possessed of greater wit, to challenge a student older, and out him as a twit."

The rhyme earned an equally curious reaction from Sam, "And what does that mean?"

Terrance raised an eyebrow as if studying the girl, "Though I am possessed of no divinatory powers, I think you ill-suited to warm or darkened cellars, but fit, instead, for yon elevated towers."

Before any explanation could be demanded (because as far as Al was concerned Wamble had gone full on barking) the second years were caught, "They started! They started, Wamble, start the time!" One boy held a lid down on top of a barrel, as several other students tried to slowly tilt and rotate it out of the showgrounds. The seconds shouted and complained at Nott:

"Get another barrel."

"Too full, too wet, too gross!"

Ted wasn't going to give up yet, "C'mon, we can do this, just keep the lids on and ..."

"No wands? Seriously!"

"It's too slow. Never gonna-"

"Careful, it's going to AAGHHH!" The tilted barrel caught and slammed down on its base. The lid, and the contents beneath popped up and over. The spill claimed several screaming victims. The first years busted out laughing, joined by another screeching chorus from the caged animals.

"This mess is **your** fault, Teddy!" The other second year lead, Donohue, stripped off her stained robes and used what clean parts were left to wipe off her neck and clothes.

Sam put her hand on Al's leg and leaned over him to Lafayette. The Ameircan girl's face lit up, she licked her lips and spoke low and quiet, "Wanna see what I was thinking?" Her shoulder was in his face, and despite what Al had witnessed her do only a minute ago, he found himself thinking she smelled quite good in contrast to the stench of the showgrounds. Leilianna was curious, but couldn't respond before Sam continued, "Give 'em enough time and they're gonna notice that cart over there. And if they all work together, it'll take 'em maybe a couple minutes to load it, like, five minutes up the hill, but them working together ain't never gonna happen." As she withdrew, Sam caught Al's eyes on her, bit her lip and winked.

All he could think of was how close she was and how her hand was still on his leg. _Scorpius did it. If I just put my hand on hers..._

Al's thought ended abruptly when Samantha hopped up, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "The bet's just between me and Nott! Rest of you are soOOoo kind to help!"

Terrance Wamble nodded smuggly in agreement. The second years were quick to think over what Sam said.

"On your own."

"Good luck with that, mate."

"Owe me a robe." The second year Slytherins went back to their seats or the wash basins.

Nott wasn't as quick to give up, "C'mon guys! We just - if we can - I mean -" He hugged the still lidded barrel and failed in his attempt to continue the tilting and rolling that several people couldn't manage moments ago.

Stansfield walked up slowly, her expression quizzical, "What are you playing at Theodore Junior?"

Wamble joined his Slytherin counterpart, "Made a poorly phrased bet with our American visitor. Horace tending Bucky?"

"Yeah. I don't care whatcha bet, get this dung up the hill, and ... sorted out, or I'll sort **you** out."

Nott was dejected, "I'm not allowed to use a wand."

Stansfiled was no longer amused, or patient, "Who says? Your little bet? Bet's over, you lost. Second years! All you had to do was get it up the hill. Get to it!"

Samantha grimaced and snorted a laugh, "Oops! Guess they were just s'posed to move it up the hill, my bad." The first years laughed along with her.

The headstudents walked by, but Wamble stopped Stansfield while he commented to Witherspoon, "I take it you have experience in white-washing fences."

She made an exaggerated smile with wide eyes, "Nah, but I hear it's a _lot_ of fun, wanna show me how it's done?"

Albus wasn't sure what that last joke was, but maybe Dad would. The letter he wrote at lunch had been the second Al had ever written, but after this, Al knew he was going to write another one _very_ soon.


	6. Chapter 26-30

Ch 26 Think Before You Speak

The Headmaster

"Thursday, and not a single point to or from a first year, Carlin?" Orinsworth slapped the short stacks of parchment on his desk.

Emmerlinse sat down and shrugged, dropping his hood, "Gave out over a hundred in Astronomy already, that's my real class. And anyway," his tone went from casual to melodramatic disappointment, "I've yet to be inspired by our start of year speech, headmaster."

Orinsworth and Stalvan chuckled along with the vampire. The Slytherin househead added, "He's got you there, Gordon, but really, Carlin, both of your first year classes already, and all your grounds, encourage them when one of them does something right, we're quite confident you can handle it when they err."

Carlin rolled his eyes, "Oh God! Did I walk in on the Gryffinbore meeting?" He started to stand up, "Sorry 'bout that, Longbum!" He fell back into his seat with a snort and a guffaw. The other men sighed.

The headmaster challenged the flight professor, "Wait a second, you don't think Flight is a real class? Weren't you broom recon during the World Wars?"

"Aerial Reconnaissance! And I only needed a broom in the first one. I've been walking my whole life and then some, don't have a class on that, now do we?" Emmerlinse nodded to the others in turn.

Stalvan cut off the headmaster's response, "Oh? They taught walking here in the eighteen hundreds? Interesting."

Orinsworth went along with the joke, "No no, he just means even though we've had a flying class here since before he started sleepin' in a coffin, these kids are smarter than him. They don't need the class like he did, do they?" The old friends laughed at the (much) older man.

Emmerlinse wagged his finger at each of them, "Ah, no no no! Don't you two start in on me! I didn't come here 'til the nineteen hundreds, and fer over twenty years there weren't no flying class. Black had it struck. Purist wanted to keep the muggleborns off the Quidditch teams and make 'em stick out," he went into a sing-song as he conducted with his finger, "shining like a devil in the wolves' moon-light." He shook his head and spoke normally, "Didn't quite work out that way."

Orinsworth held up his waterskin, Stalvan mimicked doing the same with an empty hand and all three said slightly out of sync, "Rolanda Hooch."

The vampire sat up straight and spoke solemnly, "Aye, Rolanda wasn't going to put up with that. Her Quidditch club taught everyone what they needed ..."

The headmaster's grin cocked to one side, "And wasn't there some Prefect that was sweet on her?"

Emmerlinse ignored the question, "Alright! Fi'teen points ta Lafayette 'n' Burke fer showin' tha first timers tha basics, I ain't got the patience to keep up on this point rubbish in daylight."

Gordon held his cheek and calmly mocked, "A whole fifteen each?"

"And fifty from Witherspoon, she splintered a broom."

Stalvan's eyes narrowed, "What _are_ you teaching them?"

The headmaster addressed the Slytherin househead, "You're supposed to know what he's doing before it reaches me. And you aren't taking that many points so long after the fact, Carlin, but I will tally fifteen to Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

The Flight (Astronomy) instructor protested, "Broomsticks don't just grow on trees!"

The other men regarded Emmerlinse for a moment then burst out in laughter. Stalvan calmed enough to speak, "Yes, yes they do, Carlin!"

"Birch in this case," Orinsworth added.

Emmerlinse shook his head, "Oh bloody well ha ha." His sour mood only encouraged the other two. "The Tingle and Twinkle routine done yet?" It had no effect. "What's a wainscot?" The amusement subsided slightly. Emmerlinse was insistent, "Wainscot, Witherspoon said it after destroying valuable school property."

Their mirth near exhausted, Stalvan responded, "What? Unless you were talking about redecorating your coffin-room, she's putting you on. It's wood panelling, it-"

As he reviewed some paperwork, Orinsworth corrected offhandedly, "Nah, Americans use 'wainscot' fer a place that's cut off from normals, _muggles,_ and you're allowed to have magic stuff out, do magic, like Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley. Those'd be 'wainscots' to Americans. Comes from when they'd charm a room to be soundproof and magic-tight and such."

Stalvan concluded his realisation, "Which they accomplished with charmed panelling."

The headmaster nodded, "Right, and Cleansweep provides all our brooms for free, but don't go cuttin' them up for toothpicks. I'm sure their charity knows limits."

Emmerlinse was still dubious, "Yanks can't ride brooms where they want?"

Orinsworth made some marks on the parchments, "Amazing that: different country, different rules."

Carlin wasn't done, "How do they get around? Carpets, apparate everywhere, public fireplaces? See that one they put in Hogsmeade?"

Stalvan leaned into his fellow teacher, "It's a new device called an ah-tow-mow-beel, it has a motor and wheels-" He spun his fingers around each other.

Emmerlinse shoved him away, "Oh shut up!"

"Invented around the same time as you." Orinsworth didn't look up, but was obviously smug at his own cleverness.

All three were amused at the vampire's rejoinder, "At least you recognise that a wizard of my calibre is a unique advancement worthy of being deemed an invention!"

Sam

As they entered the castle, the Slytherins walked and talked like any other gathering of adolescents. "Yeah, yeah, we have a sudden appreciation for the Americas," Stansfield's comment elicited several groans and sighs, "at least some of ya do."

The group around Sam giggled and several patted her arms and back. It was so weird. Maybe it had been a good stunt, but ... Sam was sure she'd done as well if not better before. But that was at GLA, as when she turned the water to gel in the boy's toilets. They'd sealed the stalls in the girls' bathrooms (it took a few minutes to open the doors, took all day to decontaminate the boys' stalls - the gel turned any water it touched into more gel). Except, the boys had got off with a warning, and Sam lost her game lounge and internet privileges for a month (and none of the other girls much cared for the trouble she'd gone to or gotten into). It was just a matter of time before Nott, Stansfield, or Skein spoke up and Sam ended up in trouble again, well, more trouble.

The first and second years resumed their typical rows as they went down the stairs to the dungeon, "You three, stick to tha' Great Hall, I can trust you ta' watch 'em, ma'am?" Stansfield was much more polite to Miss Skein than she was to the kids.

Sam's handler barely arched one eyebrow, "The only child in my charge is Miss Witherspoon. I make no guarantees as to their performance or safety under my supervision ... unless, of course, it's Witherspoon that threatens them." She was as casual as she was dismissive.

Stansfield didn't have much patience with the response; her face went tight as she ground her teeth. Malfoy, probably nervous at just the thought of a confrontation, hesitantly tugged at Stansfield's robe. She eyed the boy suspiciously for a moment before she broke into a smile. He took that as permission to speak, "Albus and I wouldn't mind, I mean, we'd prefer, if we could, to go to the library. I'm not sure where-"

Al butted in, "I know where it is!"

The older girl gave it some thought, "Right-o, Hypie, but that's more than just a request, that's a down right brilliant suggestion. Getcha five points. That'll be all right for you, too, Witherspoon?"

Sam had no objection, though without a doubt this library wouldn't have any computers. She didn't get a chance to agree. Skein spoke up, "No, she'll do just as well here, I'm not taking more stairs than I have to."

Stansfield's opinion of Skein worsened, "Because that's what matters," in a reversal to how the conversation started, she took it out on the adult instead of the boys, "You two behave yourselves and don't give Madam Pince any trouble. _Ma'am."_ She sneered at Sara and strode off.

Another study hour alone. Just a few minutes ago she was the most popular girl there (in the weirdo, junior military academy "house"). Of course, that Nott kid wouldn't agree.

Was discipline that bad of a thing anyway? (Only other person with a chaperone was ULTRA uptight) At the same time, how long would Sam last somewhere that demanded she behave? She sat down and opened what was no more than a pamphlet on broom flying. She couldn't concentrate enough to read it; Sam sat and wondered if ... if she belonged anywhere.

The "Great Chow Hall" was nearly empty anyway, but Skein made sure she was close enough no one else could hear, "Satisfied with today's performance?"

Sam didn't want to think about what Skein meant by that, but ... altering the wood to silver, showing up Nott ... upsetting Gabble, breaking that broom ... almost revealed for what she really was in Defense. Sam didn't want to look at Skein, "Mom says I can't be what people want me to be." Then she had to measure the woman's reaction, "I just have to be me. So yeah ... today was fine."

Scorpius

They weren't sure what they should look for. What Scorpius was sure of was that they should finish their work first, then look into the egg mystery. So far, that consisted of him doing all of the school work while Al found books that might have information on eggs or platinum.

"Says to keep the water rolling for a quarter hour. How do you roll water?"

It took Scorpius a few seconds to realise what Al said, "It says ... to boil the ... it?"

Al was confused as he read, "Nah, roll it. I just don't how-."

Scorpius' patience wore at the misunderstanding, "In cooking 'rolling' means to boil it, so that it bubbles a lot. But boiling water wouldn't be enough to melt metal." He took the book from Al. The text was a severe disappointment, "This is a Greek cookbook, Al. This is a recipe for harpy egg salad. Harpies are extinct! And they can, _could_ think. That's barbaric!"

It didn't discourage Al at all, "Right! So if it was a harpy egg that'd be cool. And they got wings, like ravens and eagles, I mean ..." Al trailed off at his friend's stern stare. He meekly offered, "It's an egg."

They had to finish their work anyway. Scorpius had already filled in the Flight questions. He needed to talk to Al about what was really vital about silver (maybe the book _with_ Stalvan's explanations would work better together), and he certainly couldn't do Al's work on how being stunned felt. "Here are the flight rules and standard broom charms, the important answers are 'four' and 'ten', four charms needed for a flying broom, and ten for it to be sale-able, err, legal to sell." Al was still guilty over letting Scorpius down. Malfoy did his best to comfort Potter, "It is about an egg. What else did you find?"

Potter recovered slightly, and took several books from his research pile to uncover the largest, "Well, I didn't think this one made much sense, but Madame Pince said to check it out, and if the cookbook isn't right ... it's," he held it before him to read the cover, "Scamander's tax on my magical creatures, does that sound good?"

It didn't make sense. Except the author's name was Scamander, their family was famous for their creatures studies. Al set the book down and Scorpius read the upside-down title, "Taxonomy!" Transfiguration could wait. This egg might have gone undiscovered for over one thousand years, hidden by the cleverest of the Hogwarts' founders. He checked the table of contents first: avians, phoenix. It was so simple, an illustration of the egg was on the second page of the entry.

Al suggested excitedly, "Get it out, see if it's the right size 'n' everythin'."

While Al was ( _fun? funny?_ ) quickly becoming Scorpius' friend, Scorpius was just as quickly finding it easy to dismiss any of Al's suggestions (about school work anyway). Yet, that same feeling of friendship had Scorpius taking the egg from his pack and holding it to the page. Still, he objected, "It isn't going to necessarily be the same size, it's not as if the drawing is to ..." He meant to say "scale", but nothing came out. On the one hand, he had based his conclusion on when he had tried to do the same by holding a picture up to a computer monitor. On the other hand ...

"Look at that!" Al quickly recalled where they were and much more quietly exclaimed, "I was right!"

He was right; The metal egg and the illustration were matched in size and shape. Neither had much real color to compare. The egg was metal grey, the old pages stained brown and yellow with age. Regardless, Scorpius was amazed. He read the caption absentmindedly, "Estimation of appearance." _Estimation?_ He scanned through the article, trying to find more on phoenix eggs, but kept getting caught on other points of interest: found in the Valley of the dead, a migration to "the home of Snow". An entry seemed close, it was on "Birth, Rebirth and Molting". And there it was, except ... the language was difficult. Also, it used cubits for distance and described the guide as a "moor". The extreme heat had kept them from approaching the object, and they apparently had no means of measuring the heat save that it ignited wood, melted steel and ... Scorpius felt sick, "That poor elf!"

Al wasn't even trying to read and watched Malfoy instead, waiting for him to explain, "What elf?"

The thought of it still clutched at Scorpius' chest, "The elf ... it ... it says, as if the elf **asked** to approach the egg," his sympathy edged into anger, "that had already melted a sword and made an arrow burst into smoke? They made it apparate to it like some sick experiment!"

Potter was not as concerned, "I don't know, if it was, like, for sure suffering, and maybe help its boss, prob'ly did it 'fore anyone could stop it." Scorpius turned on him in disbelief, but Albus continued casually, "Easier to get elves to punish themselves than give 'em dessert."

It was difficult to believe, but Scorpius admitted to himself he had only ever _seen_ an elf before (the Countess's were under strict orders to avoid contact). Did Albus really know, though? "You, your family, employs ... a house elf?"

"Yeah, Totsie. She likes Dad best, even though Mum hands out the chores. She's not as bad as Greks or Rast, though, or any of George's elves." He said it as if it were so simple.

Scorpius was not quite reassured, "They're ... they're all paid?"

It was yet another non-issue to Potter, "Course, it's not like they're family."

Scorpius distracted himself by precisely copying down the more unfamiliar words from the phoenix article.

Sam

There were four sections at GLA. But unlike at Hogwarts, they Ameriacn divisions were (kind of) based on the time zones: one each for the East and West coasts, then one combined for Central and Mountain, and the final one for the overseas kids (mostly military brats) and ... "the others". Sam, despite living quite firmly on the East Coast, was an "other". She'd started with the overseas kids, but they didn't want her. Though outnumbered, they were quite insistent on being distinguished from the null talents, headcases, and discipline issues.

What was the real basis for the divisions at Hogwarts? Personality, potential, preference? Didn't matter, it was a bad idea to put all the troublemakers in one place. Maybe the theory was to make them easier to find, to keep them all inline together. That might work, with twenty-four hour supervision, but otherwise free time would become an exchange of attacks or, worse, an exchange of ideas, of plans to attack others and cause even more trouble. And what was the point of all the smart people getting smarter together while everyone else stayed stupid? Brave people setting the example for each other? And nice people not having to put up with the mean ones? Actually, that last one made sense. Except Longbottom and Thomas were nicer than they seemed courageous. Gabble wasn't particularly "nice", while Stalvan was brilliant. Tomlinson and Emmerlinse seemed to belong where they were. There were only a few professors whose allegiance she didn't know (Professor Hagrid was probably Hufflepuff, but what about the ghost and the centaur?)

The Slytherins marched along the benches to their seats. The first years were the last ones in. Leilianna and Perry broke off to the head of the table as the others sat down. Except for one who scurried back and crouched/sat across from Sam and reintroduced herself, "Hi. Portia."

It took a second to register the hushed greeting as a joke. Sam played along, "Hey, Sam." The boys ( _there were a lot of other boys, why fixate on these two?_ ) joined the hall with the Ravenclaws. Malfoy and DuBois were bashfully distracted by each other. The two of them together ... meant no one else would have to put up with either of them.

"Do you know him? Lila does, but she won't talk about it 'cept they studied magic with the same lady, did you-?" Portia had yet more questions, even if she didn't leave enough time for answers.

The headmaster tapped his wand for attention like a conductor starting a concert, "Welcome back to most of you, and sorry I didn't get right to this for those of you new here. We hope you're as happy to be here as we are to have you. Almost thirty years since I came here, and no matter what's happened in between, coming back has always felt like coming home, and that's what we offer you, for the next nine months, seven years, for a lifetime: a second place to call home." It garnered a lot of smiles and an almost unanimous agreement. "A few issues of rules, seems there's some confusion every year: professors may add or deduct points as they see fit, please confer with me before we do anything beyond the fifty range." Older students and most of the professors laughed, "Headstudents O'Donnell, Stansfield, Wamble, Weasley (the oldest one), are limited to ten points per incident, fifty points a day, prefects, too many to name, limited to five points per incident, twenty-five a day, all of theirs submitted for approval."

Orinsworth set aside his note, and continued, "All right, I'm not the poet our sorting hat is, but, I hope my meaning's a bit clearer. Many of you'll've noticed the shops on Diagon Alley going on about Dumbledore's Army this past week, err, this was supposed to be on Sunday," a few people smiled and chuckled, "so, the week before - you know what I mean - anyways, for them, that's just a bunch of sales, putting up signs and charging you only a little bit too much for your things. For Professors Hagrid, Longbottom, Thomas, Healer Bell, Mister Creevey, several of your parents, families, it was the ... the realisation that sometimes you can't rely, _can't wait_ on others to do what is difficult, what is frightening, what is right, that it's up to whoever's there, and that sometimes that's you. Now those days are past, part of our history books, occasional conversations, and tasteless sales events," The jab at the stores got more laughs.

"The most important lesson to take from it is this: doing what is right is rarely easy, and doing what is easy is rarely right." He paused, pulled out a slip from his robe, "Most of the stories, many of the books, go in depth on the many Gryffindors of Dumbledore's army, so, I feel little need to recount their deeds. Sorry, Neville," The Herbology instructor grinned and nodded, "but to encourage the rest of you, such strength of character can come from any of us ..." He read directly from the parchment scrap, "Cedric Diggory, of Hufflepuff, didn't get to officially join an unofficial army, but he did his best to help the fight, and in saving another's life, he paid with his own. Cho Sun, then Chang, of Ravenclaw was hounded with rumours and lies that'd crush any teen. When that didn't work, the threats turned to interrogation and torture, and still she fought on. From Slytherin was househead Horace Slughorn; he rallied then-current students to the defense of our home, against those who once learned from him, and then turned on him. Headmaster Snape's final breath was spent to ensure the downfall of the man he had lured into trusting him ... " The headmaster wiped at his mouth. He grasped the podium tightly, bit his lower lip a moment, as if uncertain if he should continue, "And, perhaps few know the debt owed to ... Narcissa Malfoy, for protecting a boy on the brink of death at the risk of her own life, and the lives of her family."

 _Malfoy?_ That couldn't be that common of a name. Sam (and Portia with her) looked over to catch sight of Fontaine's arm around Scorpius, leaning into him in what could only be a gesture of comfort. Except the headmaster had said "risk of her own life", had she actually died?

"Courage, intelligence, compassion, strength are not a thing to purchase, or trade ... on sale or otherwise. They are a part of us all."

Ch27 Elements of Choice

Scorpius

He didn't speak, he could hardly eat. The Ravenclaws were polite, though, too polite. Even Fontaine, who would likely not even know what the headmaster had spoken of, did not pry. He hadn't told her, while perhaps the rest of them knew, or it was just obvious that Grandmother Malfoy had died (almost a year ago, long after the event recalled by Orinsworth). It had been long enough for Scorpius to not break out in a gush of tears. It would never be long enough for him to not miss her.

"Ay, Scorpius Malfoy, headmaster wants to see you." O'Donnell was upbeat, but being singled out worried Scorpius.

His anxiety should have lessened when the others were called on. Victoire Weasley sneaked up and tapped Al, "Come, Albus Potter, time for a hat to try you on for size." Her smile was endearing, but it wasn't going to help any of them face the Sorting Hat's judgment.

Scorpius turned to the head of the Slytherin table for one last glance at Leilianna. Last? No, they would still be at the same school, regardless of house. It was pointless anyways, as Lila's attention was on Stansfield and Wamble. Whatever the Hufflepuff boy said, his Slytherin counterpart either surrendered or did not care. A sudden squeeze on Scorpius' hand brought his attention back to Fontaine, "Good luck." She kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were incredibly soft and warm. Sorting Hat? He could face a Hungarian Horntail.

Perhaps the matter between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff headstudents had been the burden of escorting Witherspoon, as she was the last to join them in the entrance hall, Wamble and the American's chaperone shortly behind. Scorpius wondered if it was the gravity of the situation that kept everyone quiet as they approached the headmaster's office. Or was it the effort of climbing so many stairs? They reached the seventh-floor balcony, stopping at a stone door adorned with a winged serpent.

O'Donnell was bothered, "I'm not starting it. Answer was 'blood' I tell you. Can't afford to miss a week of classes this year."

Wamble approached tentatively, "Are you certain you'd receive as perilous a challenge this time?"

Stansfield was out of breath, stomping the last of the steps. Scorpius considered her, then the chasm of crisscrossing stairs below. It was fear that held him so quiet (Fontaine's kiss a fading memory). Was it for the same for each of them? Would he be left alone with Orinsworth? It had been decades since the headmaster's crimes had been committed, nearly forgiven, but not forgotten. Maybe it was something else, though this was not exactly the same place that Dumbledore had been killed. It was, inescapably where they would meet their fate.

The Slytherin headstudent had no caution in knocking. She was cut off from speaking by a disembodied voice, "Give me as you've got, that which I have not."

Stansfield bent over with a sigh, "I'm goin' ta tha clinic, aren't I?" She straightened up and took a deep breath. "Well, headmaster ain't got much hair, least that's what he complains 'bout. Hair!" Nothing happened.

Wamble cocked his head in thought, "I think it would be the coactyl asking. Though it also lacks hair, I think such a creature would be more concerned about its hands or feet and lack thereof. And as I cannot kick so high." He stepped forward and raised his hand to the stone carving's head.

"Non!" Victoire stopped Wamble's offer. "You are correct, both of you in your own fashion, but the question was not for you, Terry." Weasley cautiously reached her hand to Stansfield's shoulder. "My aunt 'Mione says you can always rely on one thing from Slytherins."

Georgia withdrew, her wand slipped into her grasp from her sleeve as she threatened, "We gonna finish this now?"

Victoire smiled broadly, holding up her pinched fingers, "Stray hair on their robes. Seeing as you don't own a cat ..." She placed the short strand in the snake's mouth. It snapped shut and the door swung outward. "His answers are always a thing, but not a fatal thing."

O'Donnell was the only older student to not snicker, "Blood is spent when it leaves you, and it's more valuable than gold, and you can't hold it forever."

Stansfield mocked, "And it would have been too rough to breathe on the thing first."

Wamble gave a short bow and ushered the women to enter first, "At least you got all your inoculations up to date, Dieter."

Scorpius and O'Donnell followed after Wamble and Witherspoon. They were the last to enter the headmaster's office. It was quite appropriately amazing. Cabinets and bookcases surrounded the round room, but even at several meters high they did not reach the start of the overhead dome. The ring just beneath the dome was filled with portraits of many older wizards and witches. Scorpius scanned about quickly to the newest portraits. Near the end was Albus Dumbledore, he pushed his half-moon lenses to his forehead as he pinched at the corner of his eyes, as if he had just woke. Severus Snape was next, his menacing stare fixed on ... the present headmaster setting the sorting hat on his desk. Malfoy's chest tightened. What had the plan been?

Orinsworth stood before them, slightly hunched. He growled, "Think we got some influence issues here. You four, take Malfoy 'n' Witherspoon ta wait below. Potter, c'm'here."

The only comfort to Scorpius' growing anxiety was the others' obvious tension (except the American woman appeared bored). Had it been a minute, several? They waited in silence. What could take so long? Was it just the hat again, or was there a test? Albus should already know, and soon Scorpius would, too. Know what? Professor Firenze might already know, he told Al something along those lines. And the quiz ... _The quiz!_ How had he missed it? The door opened quickly.

No one was in sight, the headmaster called out, "Witherspoon!" Samantha shook her head as she left.

Scorpius wasn't sure if he should say something (and to what end?). Georgia decided to speak her mind, "Survived those stairs after all, ... ma'am."

As biting as the comment was intended, Skeen's response was sharper, "I have survived more experiences than you shall ever know, it does not mean I seek to repeat the tedious, though." Her bland expression broke briefly, as if she had thought of some related joke.

While no one was going to ask for clarification, the opened door felt like an interruption nonetheless, "Malfoy!" He slowly entered the office. Would Fontaine being here help? He barely knew her, yet they had held hands, and she had kissed his cheek. A different student? Perhaps Leilianna, but no, he wanted his father or mother. He most keenly missed Grandmother in this moment, before the man who had just eulogized her actions of long ago, the man who had hunted down the Death Eaters she had betrayed, "Ain't got all night." Orinsworth gestured Scorpius forward to his desk, to the hat.

The hat that once belonged to Godric Gryffindor. Did he come up with the division of houses at the founding of Hogwarts? Why had they ever even included Slytherin? It always came down to Gryffindor and Slytherin. Syltherin, the house of criminals and killers ... the house of his family, and ... "Sir?" His previous thoughts came back to him. If it was obvious to Scorpius where he belonged ... why wouldn't it be to everyone else?

"You two, out there." The headmaster dismissed Albus and Samantha to the balcony. Once they were outside, Orinsworth raised eyebrows, and spoke with consideration, "What is it, Scorpius?"

The words were clear in Malfoy's mind, but he could not make them come forth. It was the anticipation of a jump into freezing water, there was no option but to turn back ... or dive in, "I'd like, if you'd allow-" And if Malfoy was meant for the one house, then Potter ...

Albus

Albus wasn't alone with Samantha long. They, and Scorpius, had to rush to keep up with the headmaster. Al couldn't believe it. Why had he tried so hard? Why had he even bothered? Orinsworth called out, "Weasley, O'Donnell, Wamble." Distracted, Al collided with the headmaster and fell to the floor. The man had given way as much as one of the stone walls and was only slightly softer.

Victoire made no secret of her satisfaction, "Félicitations à vous, Albie, we've kept a bed open for you." She broke into a chuckle as Samantha caught up, stumbled and pushed Scorpius into Al. Orinsworth, rooted in place, helped balance the last two as Al got to his feet.

Stansfield sounded almost content, "Make Wamble proud, Hypie." She started down the stairs.

O'Donnell tried to stifle his grin, "Wait, who? We're getting Malfoy. He's got thirty-one points!"

Wamble was suspicious, "Miss Witherspoon's temperment may have eclipsed her intellect, but neither is a hallmark of Hufflepuff, and she wouldn't be the first Witherspoon in Ravenclaw." He paused, "And has more than twice as many points," Terry rolled his eyes, clearly not concerned over student scores.

Stansfield was nearly out of sight when the headmaster barked, "All of you gone nutters? Georgia!"

The Slytherin headstudent turned back, "Sorry, sir, I can't miss Theory study group. Mabye if one of these were ours."

The headmaster raised his eyebrow, "Then I guess you have three excuses, get 'em down to the dungeon. And tell yer househead that Katie's makin' her casserole tomorrow night." He gave a suspicious glance to the other headstudents, "Didn't I tell ya to get? Go on!"

Albus knew Victoire was disappointed, but she covered it well enough. The older students moved to let Stansfield up as they left. The Slytherin headstudent wasn't quite certain though, "You sure ... 'bout it bein' all three of them, sir?"

Orinsworth gritted his teeth, "Georgia-"

Quickly and anxiously the Slytherin headstudent spoke up, "Right then, you three follow me, alphabetical order, c'mon, hup hup."

They followed Stansfield quietly down the steps. At the fifth floor, they caught up with the older students who had been held up by the traffic of Gryffindors returning from dinner. Rose hesitated on seeing Al, but was quickly ushered on by one of her friends. No other Weasleys stood out.

O'Donnell asked Wamble, "Then we're even? That's disappointing." Without notice of who followed them, they continued down.

Victoire was nearly angry, "I cannot believe you two gambled on the sorting of three children you do not know."

Wamble, as usual, was confident and clever, "You seemed to have bet on Mister Potter being in Gryffindor, Vicky."

"I _know_ Albus."

O'Donnell shot back, "Not as well as you thought. Terry's the only one who had him pegged for Slytherin. 'Cept, Witherspoon was obvious ... ta me anyway."

They had stopped on the sixth floor. "Obvious was she? And how's that?", Stansfield was quick to defend her freshly sorted first years.

Dietrich was understandably startled, "Huhn? Hey, Georgia, I just, I mean-"

"Of course," Terrance was ready with a comeback, "where would Dieter get the idea that a confrontational and attractive woman with a special magical affinity would end up in Slytherin?"

Georgia was just as swift, "You flirtin' on his behalf, Terry?" It made O'Donnell even more nervous. And that only made sense if he _did_ like her.

Victoire broke Al's train of thought with a hug. She held his shoulders to look him in the eye, "All three of you look happy to have this sorting business done with. Make Slytherin proud, Albus."

Thinking about it, Al glanced over to Samantha ... to find her looking right at him. She broke into a bright smile then shook her head and laughed. Scorpius even gave a bare grin. It didn't take any magic or mental powers for Al to understand. It had just sunk in on each them: they were all in Slytherin.

If it hadn't sunk in before, it certainly did when they entered the dungeon. Stansfield stopped at the turn just before Stalvan's office, her wand out. She looked about and the hall was covered in mist. The headstudent walked into one of the corner walls. Al couldn't be sure if this was more of Georgia's illusion or if the Slytherin "door" was somehow just an empty hole in the wall. It wasn't like the barrier at King's Cross where you walked into an enchanted wall that was really a passage, it just wasn't there. A right, then a leftward u-turn, left, and Albus was alone, back where they had started. He tested the wall behind him; it was solid. Stansfield was to his right (the way they had gone to begin with), "C'mon, that's the fake out." He dashed after her. "Potter, put yer hand on this rock." Al hesitated. "Oh come on, we-"

Sam slapped the rock and just as quickly flinched back, "Ow!"

Stansfiled nodded, "That's the spirit. _Scourgefy!_ " She cleaned ... whatever stuck Sam. What kind of password or riddle was this?

Scorpius, of course, made sense of it, "We have to give a sample of our blood to get in? But, Georgia, you're -"

"Better make it 'Miss Stansfield', and yeah, I'm still a muggleborn. Slytherin don't care so much about pure blood as he does whose blood is whose. Show Potter that Malfoy determination."

He was calm as he placed his hand against the plain stone. Scorpius withdrew his hand just as steadily. Al was impressed, but Stansfield looked slightly worried. She cleaned the stone again, then, "Go on, Potter."

Albus guessed that going slower had helped somehow, so he did the same, "Ah!" It didn't. The pinprick stung something awful.

Stansfield explained the next step, "Got another optical false wall here, like in the hall. Don't trace the wall on either side or it'll close off. Keeps the clever types out." They went through another passage that appeared to be part of the wall, except it wasn't. "The 'illusions' aren't magic, so they trip up all the wand happy, nosey types 'round here. Anyone with you can get in, don't bother tryin' to keep visitors confused, you're not allowed visitors 'til later. Each year has its own way in and there's a semi-public password entrance. Don't worry 'bout learnin' 'em all. Yours'll be the same for you your whole time here." There were only a few steps before they came to another dead-end.

Albus was quite certain that his brother would never figure all this out. Al himself had already forgotten parts of it. He hoped Scorpius or Samantha could explain it over to him next time.

"DARING!" A voice bellowed and metal rattled. Al and Scorpius flattened to the wall. Sam's hands and sleeves were on fire. Someone put their hand on her shoulder to stop her. The alcove suddenly felt frozen, the echo of the yell faded into faint clinking. More mist formed, not the same as what Stansfield had done. The ghost of a man in a heavy coat, and even heavier (looking) locks and chains emerged from the wall, "A Slytherin cannot afford fear ..." he hovered off the ground and tilted down face to face with Sam, "You've got to be ten times braver than any Gryffindor lap dog."

Albus recognised the spirit (much closer than he had ever seen him before), "You're the Bloody Baron!"

A wave of cold came with the ghost's attention to Al, "Loyalty ... your friends don't matter ... if you can't turn them to your ends. Let them underestimate you, let them trust you as you were some pathetic Hufflepuff." He hovered back to "standing" as he floated to Scorpius, "Cleverness ... recite your lessons to win favor as would a Ravenclaw ... **act** on your knowledge to earn your place in Slytherin."

Al was excited, "That was BRILLIANT! Do you do that everytime or just the first? You gotta do that for Lily!" Scorpius and Stansfield looked at him like he'd gone barking.

Sam's reaction was only slightly better. She shoved at Al, half amused, half tense, "You're such a dork!" No matter what she said, her voice was strained; she gasped a nervous laugh.

The headstudent barked at the ghost, "What's gotten into you, Baron? Go dig up Peeves!"

He responded in a raspy whisper, "You pretend at deception before its master who conceived it!" He faded out as he withdrew into the now damp wall.

Stansfield shook her head, "Weird. Anyway, try to slide this stone, left to right," she swiped at the stone (though it didn't move) and the wall split along the brick seams. The staircase below them was dimmly lit by green-flamed candles. The stairs were silent, their footsteps muted by the thick carpet. The end of the steps was concealed by a curtain bearing the coiled snake of Slytherin. Voices poured out as it was pushed aside.

"Five A.M. for tryouts, awww!"

"... can't follow the rules, she's sleeping in the lake."

"Hey, what are _they_ doing here?"

The walls and floors of the sunken-center room were nearly-black stone where they weren't covered in rugs and tapestries. Before Al could take it all in, Stalvan drew their attention, "And to what do we owe the honor?" On the far side, along the upper tier, the househead sat ... ON A THRONE! Not like Granpa's charmed out recliner (that he called his throne) or one of the old, formal chairs in the dining room (which the Potter kids used for a play throne). It was giant, black, with plush green cushions and lined with silver snakes, wands and blades, A THRONE!

"Few late joins, sir. Scorpius Malfoy, Albus Potter, Samantha Witherspoon. Mighta heard o' them." Stansfield's crack got a smirk out of the professor.

Stalvan flipped several parchments back from his clipboard, "Room assignment ... Mister Malfoy, are you the type to challenge the traditions of your newly joined, yet oh-so-old family?"

Several students waited in a queue before the professor (and his THRONE). They, in fact, all the people around the room quietted down and watched for Scorpius' answer. Emmerlinse came out from the hall behind the throne and leaned against its high back.

Anyone would be nervous. Scorpius was no exception, "Err, no, sir, I- I would not."

Stalvan made some sweeps at his list, "Mister Nott, you'll have one of the class lead bunks in the boys' commons. Do not take this as punitive, you're permitted an elf to assist you."

Nott was shocked, "But, sir! I-" Malfoy was even more startled. The professor stared at the upset second year without concern. Nott probably should have let it go, but couldn't, "What about my stuff, I-"

The househead made a mark on his sheet, "It's been but a week. If you cannot remember what is and is not original to the suite, I am certain the elf will. Show Mister Potter the boys' commons on your way. Miss Stansfield, take Witherspoon to the girls' commons."

Samantha bit her lip and almost hissed. Stansfield ushered her to follow along, then turned back, "Oh, and tha Headmaster said he's having a casserole tomorrow night, sounded like an invite."

Al didn't give it a thought at first, but figured it must be really good food by Stalvan's pleased expression, "Thank you, Miss Stansfield, now, who first found this rather durable mold?" There were three boys, the first one raised his hand. Stalvan and Emmerlinse left with all three. Albus wasn't sure if the queue always followed Stalvan, or if they were all together.

Albus looked around for Nott. Scorpius was down a short hall off the main room. He peeked around a doorway before he jumped back. Malfoy escaped the hall just as a metal box and lopsided bag hit the wall. Ted followed his belongings out as he grumbled. Scorpius was well out of the other boy's view. Nott grabbed up his stuff and stomped to the main room. At that moment, Stansfield returned from another door, Witherspoon absently nodding behind her. Al wished he could get the same guide, rather than Nott (or they could just let Al explore the doors and halls off the main room himself). Nott's complaining got louder, "Stealing mah room, criminal is what it is."

"Watch who you're calling criminal, goon!" Sam's poke was unexpected enough that Nott dropped one of his bags. Stansfield's presence (and crossed arms) stopped both from saying or doing anything more. Nott (once again) bent over and snatched up his belongings before leaving in a huff.

He should have gotten the elf to do most of the work.

Sam

She was neck deep in whatever this was, and her confidence was failing. Did all the houses put their people in stone squad bays? All the garbage about potential and character... Sam wasn't ready for a return to communal living. Skein's taunting from the night before echoed in Nott's whining about who or what was "criminal".

Then, as if thinking about Skein invited the woman to pipe up, "Your reactions might give away that past you're so not ashamed of."

Stansfield saved them from another exchange, "This way, ma'am. Don't get much use of our V.I.P. room."

Skein continued to be snide, "Perhaps that's due to the character of your alumni. Though, I'm certain they'd be accustomed to living within stone walls."

 _Another school, another barracks._ Sam griped, "Over five thousand miles ... just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in."

Albus was lost, "Hey, Sam, where are we supposed to go?"

She smiled and half laughed, half gasped, "We? I'm pretty sure there's a platoon of girls that would be even less happy about you bunking with them than I am about bunking with them." And how was she (a girl, from another country!) supposed to know where the boys slept, as if she ... well, if the passages were symmetrical, based on the entrance, "Try that one, Al."

Lafayette confirmed Sam's guess, "Yes, that's the boys' commons. Go on, Potter." The girl was annoyed, but uncomfortable, too. Al left halfheartedly, like he'd expected Sam to go with him (might be an improvement over the all-girls' room).

"Why do you have a chaperone?" Leilianna spoke like she was used to being heeded.

Even if the girl did have a title, Sam didn't like the attitude, not from someone her own age, "She bothers you? Take it up with her. Did you ask the Chinese girl?"

Leilianna tensed up, she wasn't going to back down, "Miss Huang isn't in Slytherin. Is she meant to watch over you, or watch for ... what you do?"

The girl wasn't easily dissuaded. Sam hated to admit it, because the truth wasn't so easy to admit. She sputtered an answer, "There's - my mother has - she ..."

"Is she a criminal? Your mother."

While the answer hadn't come easily, Sam's anger did, "Hey! Don't you-"

Leilianna kept her composure and murmurred, "You're not the only one."

 _What?_ Was this girl seriously implying that someone from her family, or that anyone there had a family like Sam's. _No!_ No matter what she meant ... it couldn't be the same, not even close.

Lafayette took a step past Witherspoon and called out, "Professor Stalvan!" then, in a hush to Sam, "Go along."

The househead had just returned and was suspicious, "Miss Lafayette?"

"Under House Slytherin's articles of legacy I claim privilege of service."

One of Stalvan's eyes narrowed, "You've already one servant." Sam did not like the sound of that.

Leilianna responded instantly, "There's accomodations for two." Her tenor was hopeful, but Sam was not about to agree to be someone's serving girl.

The professor took a sharp breath, "Miss Witherspoon?"

 _Oh?_ Sam was a little surprised she'd get to decide. Well, obviously the answer was "no", except ... the Portia girl nodded rapidly, Lila bit her lip. Worst case scenario this was the most obvious trolling set up ever. If so, this girl would learn the epic levels of vengeance Sam was capable of. But Portia had confided that Lila was nice. If it wasn't a trick ... "What if I say yes, sir?"

"You reside in the servant quarters adjacent to Miss Lafayette's room, with Miss Hirsch, and will be held responsible for the care and condition of the master suite in addition to your own room." He offered no clue in tone or manner that he thought this was a good deal or not.

If it didn't work out Sam ended up in bunk-bed purgatory anyway, "All right, I'll try it." Leilianna barely smiled, while Portia gave a little clap/hop combo.

Britain, Hogwarts, Slytherin, now what in the hell had Sam gotten herself into?

Ch 28 Behind Closed Doors

Sam

Of course she meant to be hostile. A new environment, people she didn't know, and circumstances beyond her control, it was a sound strategy. If it was a trap, Sam would be ready. If it wasn't, then the others would still be put off balance, their reactions more likely to be honest, emotions easier to read.

It didn't work out that way. Instead, Sam was the one taken aback, off balance herself. The room was astounding: a dark queen's chamber carved from ancient stone, furnished from a web gallery exclusive to the rich and privileged. The trailer back in Jersey would fit in here four times over except for the giant, torch-adorned pillars that would get in the way. The bed alone was only half the size of her entire home ( _King size? No way, round, too big, must be an emperor!_ ).

She'd stared too long, and instead of reading one of them, one of them read her. "It's amazing isn't it? Mother spent ten thousand pounds on my room and it's not even close to this!" Portia was excited. Sam hoped pounds were like pesos or something, but she knew that was wrong (or was that euros?). The room was still too much, too fantastic, she couldn't concentrate.

Leilianna giggled nervously, "Do you like it then? Portia and I -"

The room was huge, the thought snapped into Sam's mind, "You expect me to clean this?" It wasn't half as hostile as she had intended.

Yet it worked, neither girl said anything for a second. Leilianna recovered first, "Oh, no! Well, yes, but, Portia and I already handle everything between us, three could only make it easier."

Lafeyette's success inspired Hirsch to go on, "Lila's shown me how to do everything. Marta'd have a fit if she knew I was cleaning anything."

Sam wasn't reassured, "Then why me?" _Don't ask who Marta is, don't ask who Marta is, don't ask ..._

Lila responded, "Well, Portia's parents are muggles..."

Sam shot back, "I'm mageborn."

"'Mageborn'? I was - I mean, if she was in the commons," Lafayette sighed, "it wouldn't have gone well for her ... and you being American..."

"Slytherins don't like muggleborns _or_ Americans?"

Leilianna was shocked, "No! Well - maybe, I guess someone told you, but," then she sounded worried, "Donohue isn't going to forget about this afternoon, even if it was Nott you showed up, she was still going on about her robes all through dinner."

"And?"

This was obviously something Leilianna had thought about and that gave her confidence, "You might hear a lot about Slytherin and purity, or ambition, or magical power, but real power comes from influence. It just so happens that witches from muggle parents aren't going to know anyone else, they aren't going to have someone to look out for them."

Portia couldn't resist, "Oh, you can't trust that professor visit stuff. Longbottom didn't even know that I'd be in - except ... , " her original excitement faded, "your parents aren't muggles, so you didn't have a professor visit to explain magic to them."

Lila laid a consoling hand on the disheartened girl's shoulder, "A foreigner's not going to know anyone here either. But O'Reiley is the fourth year in charge of the girls' commons ... and Donohue's cousin."

Sam snorted and grinned, "A second _and_ a fourth year, I won't play fair then."

The bravado was short lived. Leilianna was practically frightened, "Maybe you'd be a match for a second year, but not a fourth, and it wouldn't be just the two of them. Especially with you having a chaperone. There's gossip that she's a hired guard or a spy and they hate that even more than what happened at the zoo."

So, two new friends, but maybe thirty new enemies. Or maybe the student leader just wanted to preserve law and order. Thinking of law and order reminded Sam of something else, "What did you mean about not the only one? The 'criminal' thing ..." She let it linger. No point in providing more details than needed.

It sent both girls into giggles. Lila chilled out at her admission, "My mother ... takes things. And I don't mean a shoplifter, or cars, or a hacker or such." Portia sighed and rolled her head and eyes back. The two of them had already had this conversation.

Sam had not, "What do you mean then?"

Leilianna clearly disapproved, "She's a thief, she breaks into houses and businesses and steals things." She was embarrassed at snapping, "Sorry, it's not your fault. She ... she takes paintings and sculptures, artifacts."

That sounded awesome to Sam, "Like, she finds magic stuff norms got ahold of, or try to use, and she hunts them down and reclaims the stuff?" It sounded a lot like a show she'd streamed.

While it was obviously not the case, the suggestion gave Lila pause for thought, "I wish, that almost sounds respectable. She sells most of it. She only keeps the things that help her steal even more." The confession wore on Lafayette. Portia held the edges of her robes out to the sides and rocked in place like an anxious four year-old. A bump into Lila turned the attention on her, "And now you, you tell her about ..."

While Portia acted surprised, her response smacked of rehearsal, "Well," (insert dramatic pause), "I'm not absolutely certain, but, no first, Father has a degree in accounting, but he isn't an accountant." Apparently the rehearsal was never finalized. "And, I've never been allowed to his work ... and Mother won't talk about it." (Build the suspense.) "We have to live in a gated community, and we have guards, with earbuds and everything whenever we go out." (Money, serious money.) "And Father complains about working with a bunch of criminals when Zeta asks about his work ... So, I think he does the books, I mean, I think he's a bookie, or such, for the maafia." She said "mafia" funny, like the "a" was deflated.

"Like the mob? 'Keeping the books' isn't usually a bookie, bookie means gambling." Sam saw that the distinction meant nothing to Portia.

Even if Ravenclaws were supposedly smarter, Portia wasn't exactly slow either, "So, do you know about bookies and gambling from your family?"

 _Tell her the truth? No way!_ Except ... they'd already said so much. Was it fair to hold back? Didn't matter, no one would ever accept Sam's mother for who, for what, she really was, "These days, Mom ... she just, cleans, like, laundry, and changing the sheets and stuff."

Portia didn't buy the story, "Your mother does magic ... and she's a housekeeper?"

 _Damn!_ Sam had stepped right into that, "Well ... yeah, she - I'm - _I_ was born in the States, so I'm legal, but Mom ... isn't. Your average 'undocumented' can get away with a lot. And most magic users get away with even more, but illegal magi ... Mom doesn't have a lot of choices, and that means working for ... the wrong types."

Leilianna chuckled, "Wrong types? You'll fit right in here!" The other two joined in with strained laughter.

It only lasted a moment, Portia had a question, "But then why do you have a chaperone? Longbottom told Father Hogwarts would be like Hearthholme and I wouldn't need a guard here."

Sam knew there were ways of being honest without telling the whole truth, "'Cause your guards are for normals. My family's got a magical ... history."

Lila chuckled again, "Mine, too, but that's not a problem while I'm here. No one attacks Hogwarts and gets away with it!"

The girls stayed up talking about how they were invited to Hogwarts and their first few days there. When it came time to sleep, Lila and Portia had already been sharing the main bed (it was big enough for a few more). Sam wasn't comfortable with sharing and went for the bunk bed in the servants' room (her trunk was already there anyway). The attached quarters were equally lavish despite being quite small (smaller even than the guest rooms upstairs). The size of the room made her feel more comfortable. It was a new environment, with people she was just getting to know, and circumstances beyond her control, but it was starting to feel a lot better.

Then it felt strange. The door was closed, the room quiet. Sam had fallen asleep alone (after she locked the door), but she didn't feel alone anymore. _Feel._ Sam mentally "felt" the room: fear, but also something like ... resolve? It, whatever it was, was in front of her, where her trunk should be. She lunged and grabbed. The resolve vanished, the fear exploded, "DON'T EAT ME!" The voice was high and strained. That wouldn't be too strange, except it was too high, too strained, and whoever Sam held in her grasp was way too small (her hand covered its entire face instead of just its mouth).

Sam was uncertain, should she call Leilianna and Portia to ask who or what this was, or would she look stupid for not knowing about some long developed British strain of talking pixies? No, too big for a pixie, too small for an elf (not a full grown one at least). "Shush!" Maybe it was a prank, a golem or something. _Golems don't have emotions._ "Eat you?" Sam was going to figure this out on her own, "What makes you think I would eat you?" It whimpered. It was too dark to tell what it was. Sam turned back and struggled to stand the creature on the bedside table. She held it with one hand, and snapped a few embers from her fingertips into the old-fashioned oil lamp. If the scream hadn't woke them, this light wouldn't be enough to disturb anyone either. It was enough for Sam to make out her intruder: a little more than two feet tall with long, flappy ears, and bulbous eyes (like a squashed elf - maybe a deformed kid). It was pointing at its teeth, specifically its (rather insignificant) canines. Sam forgot herself and checked her teeth with a finger, then she figured it out, "Oh ... my teeth." At some point she had removed her collar, "Wait, you couldn't have seen my fangs 'til - what are you?" It mumbled shrilly, Sam couldn't make it out. "What?"

The response wasn't much louder, "Dread mistress commanded Newna to shush."

The double-breasted bell-hop uniform was a clue. Sam was excited with the realization, "Oh, the luggage elves! You're so small! Your name is Noon-a? Who's-a dread what?" One confused answer and more questions.

"Not a luggage elf! Newna is Deputy Chief Elf of Powerful House Slytherin." It gasped and recoiled at the ferocity of its own response.

Sam smirked, "Not a luggage elf, gotcha! What are you doing in here? I'm done moving. Are you related to Sylvans? And did you mean me with the dread thing?"

Too much at once, the elf looked about in a daze, "Is one of Newna's duty to check girl Slytherins for contrabanned, dread mistress, contrabanned is very common among ... new students." Her eyes drifted to the trunk.

Sam relaxed, "You mean new Slytherins. For a chief elf, you're still pretty set on my luggage. Are you a 'domestic' elf? Wood elves are a lot bigger, do you call them sylvans, too or something else? What do you guys do other than luggage?"

Newna's voice was tiny and rapid, "Elves launders and mends clothing, cut hair, clean rooms, but not this room, Mistress Lafayette picks huma-," she gulped, "her own servants." Her head turned again to the trunk.

"And back to mistresses and luggage." Sam sighed and let go of Newna. Witherspoon knelt down and took a lock in hand, "The locks are biometric enchanted: only I can open them." The elf took a deep breath, the feeling of resolve returned. "Yeah, yeah, 'contrabanned'." Sam opened the first compartment and pulled up the two hinged drawers to reveal the bottom portion, "Uniforms and school supplies, nothing magical."

The elf craned her neck and nodded. "Writing things, round and triangle things all magic."

Reluctantly, Sam agreed, "Oh, well, yeah, I guess, is that contraband?" The tiny elf shook her head. "Next: my clothes." No reaction, "OK, door number three: electronics." It was a little difficult to lift the foam inserts to show both levels. "No objections?" Newna shook 'no' again. "And four ... music." Her bass guitar was on top, under it's padded shelf was a couple milk crates with sheet music folders and a shoe box with strings and picks, then the amp in its own crate. Newna nodded approvingly and made a nervous smile. Sam opened the next compartment, "Uh ... 'sundries' I think is the term: pictures, papers, a few tools, oh, and all my puzzles and games. Some of those are magic." It was a mass of repurposed boxes. No objection from the elf. "Nearly done, linen closet: sheets, pillows, towels ..."

Newna leapt to the edge of the trunk and pulled at a blanket, "This-"

Sam snatched the blanket from the elf, causing her to tilt and twirl along until she clattered on the floor. Sam clutched it to her cheek, "That's mine!" She breathed in deeply through the cloth. Newna was worried. Sam suspected why, "It's - it ..." She slid her thumb down cutting a gash that quickly sealed behind, "It predates the Infernal Trade Ban." then , as if the elf had asked, Sam explained in a defensive tone, "I don't claw or tear in my sleep anymore either."

The elf swallowed and shrank back, "Newna will make inquiry, but ... safe enough. That, that box is not safe."

Sam looked down. She'd forgotten her aunt's gift, "The beggar's banquet? I _know_ how it works."

"Would not be allowed until fourth year Transfiguration."

Sam rolled her eyes, "I'm guessing that's the year you guys teach Gamp's Theory." She held it out reluctantly, "I get that back before I leave." Newna nodded anxiously as she took custody of the small, wooden box. Sam smirked, "Well, if you liked that, you'll love this: the booty prize, seventh slot of one of the seven chests of Blackbeard, but, not _thee_ seventh chest (which is supposed to have this huge pit for the seventh drawer), this one's the third ... or something." Newna was not calmed nor impressed. Sam sighed and opened the last compartment, "Anyway, household goods, I - Mom wasn't - I had to take everything I could."

The house-elf peeked over as Sam moved about the many plastic drawers, "Thank you, dread mistress."

The girl's eyes narrowed and her face went flat in the dull light, "Seriously? I have razor sharp knives, ten-inch shears, a frying pan that could stop a bullet and ... you take the crappy, barely functioning, magic lunch box?"

Newna winced sheepishly, "Could be dangerous used wrong, witches need knives and shears to cut, pots and cauldrons to cooks ... potions, not food, elves cook food, and cut hairs, dread mistress."

Sam's eyes widened, "We might have to discuss the food thing. And don't go near my hair." She swept her hair back over her head, worried what might be poking out, "What else is contraband, and why do you keep calling me 'dread mistress'?"

The elf counted off on her (three) fingers and thumb, "Poison, dark magic, artifacts of evil power, dangerous things," she held up the box, "and ..." the fear swelled up, "Because - you, you're a - not all human." She looked like the word "human" might doom her.

"Great." Sam grimaced. There was a brief silence, "Is that it then?" Newna nodded quickly and smiled awfully ( _not much practice?_ ) Without pause, Sam added, "Do all the elves know what I am?"

Newna nodded anxiously, "They tell no one, they not dare to disturb you, dread mistress."

"How does anyone keep a secret in this place?"

Ch 29 Thank Merlin It's Friday

Albus

 _Albus Severus Potter,_ _it's our first day in Slytherin_ (even if it was his fifth day at Hogwarts). The commons weren't so bad. It was kinda like a night at the Burrow, when all the Weasley kids slept on cots in the den. Nott had made some ruckus to start, but there was a fourth year in charge who shut him down (also kinda like the Burrow and Fred doing the same, usually to James).

There were some bad things. Lower year Slytherins were woken up by Emmerlinse. The man yelled like he had a permanent volume charm. Maybe it was a vampire thing. They shared a huge bathroom (not huge in a good way, huge in a lot of the same stuff over and over way). Then they had to line up like it was primary school. There was some pushing and shoving, but Al managed to get in line (and avoid any harm himself).

The girls were already waiting, Lafayette in lead, Witherspoon and Hirsch behind her ( _Wait ... was she the same Hirsch that went to Hearthholme?_ ) Just like the boys, they appeared to be put out by the early waking. Really, a WHOLE half-hour early for Defence? Albus nearly dozed off in line (and did not notice Scorpius beside him).

Breakfast was nothing special: apple cinnamon waffles, three-cheese omelets, thick-cut bacon, bangers and mash, muffins, melons and berries; the usual Hogwarts stuff. Emmerlinse didn't stick around to eat (of course), and left Stalvan to watch them from a distance.

It was quite obvious that first year Gryffindors were the only other ones in the Great Hall. Rose would be in the same class with them today. She was probably upset about Al being in Slytherin despite what Fred had said on the train.

From the sunshine (were there windows in the hall?) they went back down to the darkness of the dungeon. At least, so far, defence hadn't been too boring, and, even if it was with Gryffindor, James wouldn't be there. Yet again, just entering the class met with something unusual. In the center of the room was a raised, wooden stage. It was long and barely wide enough for two people.

Headmaster Orinsworth was unaffected by the early hour, "Take your places, Gryffindor far wall, Slytherin near, find yer names 'long the wall."

Samantha talked to Portia, "Dunno, but ... bet it's the parents thing, you're probably at the other end." Neither girl seemed happy about that. "Albus Potter" was just past the entrance, right after "Samantha Witherspoon" and before "Peryton Peringold". Scorpius found his nameplate close to the other end.

The professor started up before everyone was in place, "First off, class sizes aren't even, Miss Lafayette, you'll find yourself 'bout halfway on the Gryffindor side. Figure your family reputation will prevent any confusion." She accepted it grudgingly.

From Al's left, Sam asked, "Does he mean - what reputation?"

Al turned to answer, but Orinsworth continued, "Second, you're startin' out based on your background, meanin' your family's past performance, however, your own performance will determine where you end up. Those of you with civilian type, muggle families will start at one end," he pointed to Portia, then with the other hand to the Gryffindors across from Albus, "Law enforcement, military, and more active wizard and witch families at the other." He pointed at Al for Slytherin and for Gryffindor ...

Rose, "But sir, my mother isn't in the Department of Law anymore, she hardly uses magic since ..." Both she and Albus were uncomfortable with where this was going.

The professor sneered, "Your father not worth the mention? Don't let your Uncle Potter's history overshadow his friend's more mercantile achievements." Rose glowed as Al's embarrassment grew. "And I think both your parents' childhood exploits still count for something."

 _Can this be over already?_ Rose tried (though not very hard) to suppress her grin. Last week, Albus learned about (some) of their family's past, and found out Rose had not been allowed to talk about it for years. Looking back, it was hard to believe she could keep any secret that well.

Once the rule was lifted (except with Lily), Rose wasn't going to shut up about it ever again, "Well, sir, I -"

Unless Orinsworth cut her off, "So, don't think too much about where you are, I'd've been down there with Miss Roberts and Mister Malfoy, myself." The professor stepped onto the stage and continued as he walked the length, "Slytherin has a head start with a demonstration practice duel." Al took a glance at Sam. She grimaced, then looked ahead even though no one was across from her. The headmaster addressed the class, "You cast in turns, I say who goes first. You may defend when attacked, but wait until told to go on the offense. Now ..." He levitated a pair of baskets with bracelets to each end of the stage in turn, "at this point you'll have few, if any, spells in your arsenal. Lights and levitation will do little to help you at this point. Miss Milton?"

Rose's friend, Alice Milton, put her hand down reluctantly, "Couldn't we levitate away someone's wand?"

"Wands out." Gryffindor was a mess as they tugged and yanked at their robes to pull their wands out. Every Slytherin (except the former "delays") moved their wand forward from a wrist sheath in one motion. Orinsworth (whose sleeve pulled back to reveal his own sheath) twitched his wand to his hand, pointed at Milton and cast, _"Wingardum Leviosah!"_ Her wand wavered, barely. "No? How about you yourself?" He cast again. Maybe her robe moved, but that could have been fidgeting. "Levitation is a rather simple spell. It works well on an object, in sight, not under another's control, not so well on a person, nor anything on their person. _Levicorpus_ is for lifting a person, and if they're awake, they might even resist that. Anyone know the spell for removing an object from someone's grasp, especially a wand?" Almost everyone's hand (not Al's) went up. "No, Mister Potter? All right, Weasley."

Again, Rose was all too pleased with herself, " _Explerimus,_ sir!"

"Correct, Miss Weasley, ten points, up here. Mister Potter, to your end." Whereas Orinsworth had just stepped up, Al had to hold onto the stage's edge to get a leg up. It was only slightly better than Rose's crawling up on her end. The professor hopped down and turned back to the stage, "Bracelets on, both of you. Right then, Weasley told you the spell, Potter, now try it yerself."

It was funny to see Rose disappointed. Al's amusement faded as it sunk in that it was his turn. Well, Rose had done it right on her first try just the other day. Al gave it a shot, _"Explairmus!"_ That didn't sound right, and it was more grey than silver. Rose didn't even flinch. Oddly, in Al's opinion, no one sniggered at his failure.

Orinsworth moved closer to the center as he spoke, "Weasley, you -"

This time, it was the professor who was interrupted. Rose cast, _"Explerimus!"_ The spell shot out silver and straight. It would have hit, too, had Al not jerked out of the way. Scattered cheers and claps came from both houses. Rose was not satisfied, "But he - he moved!"

The headmaster mocked the girl, "You didn't expect him to just stand there and take it, did you?" The Slytherinsdid snigger at this. Across from them, Lafayette stepped back from the Gryffindors, grinned and held the back of her hand to her mouth. Orinsworth jumped onstage "All right, Potter may not have the pronunciation down, _ex-pleir-ih-mus_..." Gryffindor giggled and Slytherin tightened up in silence. "... but his positioning and movement are noteworthy. Standing to the right of the stage 'stead of the middle, slight crouch, left leg forward, loose, right leg bent and ready." The headmaster did the same, "Opponent is obviously right handed, she's going to be able to adjust in, for her to the left, easier than out. Try it." Along with everyone else, Albus imitated the professor and turned his wrist back and forth. He shouldn't have been surprised that Orinsworth was right. "So, Potter gives himself the most room to manuever in his opponent's weak side." Had Al really done that? "Keeping his left foot forward as he drops his right back. Leaves him full range to aim where she might move," Orinsworth was sideways as he faced Rose. He rotated his wand back and forth in front of him, "while leaving the least of himself exposed." He traced a frame in the air to make his point. "Now if he just knew how to cast the spell." Giggles again. "No advantage, next two."

Al was glad to get out of the spotlight, even if he had done something right (not that he meant to), he'd also done something wrong.

Sam smiled when Al rejoined her, "Had no idea you did that, did you?" Al shook his head. Sam leaned in and half-hugged Al. Maybe going first and messing up hadn't been such a bad thing after all.

The rest of the students faced off in turns. Most everyone tried to do what Al had done. Despite how the students should have been going from best to worst, the class actually got better as it went on. Al was too caught up in which house was ahead to figure out that Orinsworth had meant for those used to magic to demonstrate for those who were just learning it (and it was Gryffindor, two wins, to Slytherin's one, and six draws). Lafayette was against Nightshade. Leilianna stood at the far end, her wand dangled from her right hand. She was confident, standing straight and still; Natalie (right in front of Al), not so much. Orinsworth smacked the stage, "Nightshade, go!"

 _"Explerimus!"_ good cast, bad aim.

The streak flew past Leilianna. She muttered and snarled briefly. Her hand went back and came to the front quickly. Natalie tried to dodge ... except nothing was cast. With just a twitch, Lila barked, _"Explerimus!"_ Nightshade's arm flew back as her wand shot across the stage into Lafayette's outstretched left hand. The student leader dashed across the stage to a round of Slytherin applause. She leaned in to her classmate and reassured quietly, "A tie wouldn't do." Nightshade nodded with shame as she received her wand.

So, someone was doing more about the score than Al had managed.

"Five points Slytherin!" Samantha giggled at her own outburst (the other Slytherins grinned - except Leilianna who blushed and bit her lips to hold back a smile).

The Defence professor was equally amused, "You mind if I hand out the points, Miss Witherspoon?" Sam shook her head "no" but wasn't discouraged. Orinsworth went on, "Excellent feint and constrained cast, I'd give ya fifteen, but ya tried to draw a loss at first, so, you lose ten."

Sam scoffed, "I told you!" She rolled her eyes and giggled more.

For a moment it made Al wonder if he had earned any points this week (ten from Firenze). He should have earned some for his dodging. Maybe Scorpius would make up for it. He was the last "pureblood" on Slytherin's side (and really smart); he faced Roberts in Gryffindor, already deep into their halfsie families. It wouldn't be much of an advantage as if he faced some muggle-raised kid, maybe he'd be more confident if that was the case. Instead, his cast was awkward and wide. Hysterically, the Gryffindor jumped right into it. Her wand didn't go far. Orinsworth goaded the girl to pick up and cast back. The disarming charm (curse?) was right on target, which should have made it easy to avoid. Instead, Scorpius hesitated, the spell hit, his wand fell from his hand: another draw.

"This wand thing is really holding you guys back," Sam cracked. Al smirked in agreement.

Across the room, Rose felt otherwise, "Headmaster Orinsworth!"

Orinsworth (along with most of the Slytherins) turned to Rose in annoyance, "This relate to our current duels, Miss Weasley?"

Instead of answering, Al's cousin lowered her hand and shrunk down. She glanced over to Al, but after she caught Sam's scowl, she swiftly went back to watching the duels. Samantha murmured, "She's a dork." Like Rose just a moment ago, Sam grew nervous as she glanced at Albus.

He didn't give it a second thought, "Not even half of it. You should play Quidditch wit' 'er." Al turned and smiled at Sam who smiled right back. Rose clearly disapproved of Al and Sam's shared amusement. It reminded him of his mother's disappointed glare. It encouraged him to playfully elbow Samantha. She returned the favor with a kick to his leg. Albus fell to one knee, but at Rose's expression, he couldn't help but laugh.

It would have been smart to pay attention to where the professor was through all this, "You two the source of Miss Weasley's concern?" The headmaster's severe tone was enough; Al and Sam kept it down (just enough) to avoid the headmaster while they kept it up (just enough) to bother Rose. Rose looked like she and Sean Finnegan might fight back, but all they did was whisper while Al and Sam traded fake slaps.

The duels ended in a tie: four wins each. Except Orinsworth called it different, "Due to the numbers, tie goes to Gryffindor." He swiveled back, "That answer your concerns, Weasley?"

Rose nodded and the professor started off to the far end. It was then that Rose tugged at Sean's robes and he called out, "Prafessor?"

Al thought it, Orinsworth said it, "Now what?"

Sean shot a look back and Rose nodded. He took a moment to get his nerve then complained, "Whattabout her?" He pointed at Samantha. Potter slumped, Witherspoon grunted.

Professor Orinsworth answered with curiousity, "Hasn't got a wand to disarm. You wanna change how things're done? I'm seekin' applicants with outstanding D-A NEWTs or five years Auror experience." The instructor cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. Sean went blank. His turn back to Rose gave away the real source of the complaint to everyone. "Right, so, maybe a tie breaker (awfully generous of you) between ... who'd be appropriate opponents?" Sam stepped forward, sparks popped out as she pressed a fist into the palm of her other hand. As if that wasn't enough, the Slytherins, thinking of the bout with Koverchenko, whispered and chuckled menacingly. Suddenly, neither Rose nor Sean seemed as interested in that challenge. Just like with Koverchenko before, Professor Orinsworth wasn't done with it that easily, "Gonna be a regular duel, no turns, but no seconds (as we're not casting anything remotely fatal), I call, you both go. However, I won't put you at much of a disadvantage, each house can choose their _wanded_ champion."

Samantha suddenly barked, "SLYTHERINS!" As if it happened like that all the time, the Slytherin first years raced to Witherspoon.

Perry (who was already beside Al) questioned the order, "And who put you in charge?"

Sam, "You wanna win?"

Leilianna put her hand across Peringold's chest, "She duped Nott well enough, what are you thinking?"

In response, Sam's eyes widened, "You, I'm thinking you."

Lila's eyes widened, but it was Perry who spoke, "What? Against Nightshade? That was nothing!"

Natalie didn't agree, "Like you did so hot against Finnegan. If you'd even tied ..."

"Bull!" Sam got heated, she wasn't done yet, "Leilianna didn't even try, no offense Nightshade," Natalie sulked as Sam faced back to Lila, "You're obviously left-handed but you held right, and you didn't even use that pop-out, abra kadabra, wrist holster." Almost everyone was shocked at Witherspoon's casual reference to _avadra kedavra_ , the very lethal, and very illegal killing curse. She didn't seem to notice (or care). "Here," she grabbed Al's wand and shoved it at Lila, "take this-"

Lafayette already knew the plan, "Wield it out and obvious and keep _my_ wand in secret, I lose it as an advanced feint, then I disarm my opponent."

Only, Sam had something more to say. She pulled Lila in close and whispered in her ear. Al wasn't sure what caused Lila such concern. Samantha let the lead student go and growled, "Pick that weed!"

"Weed? They haven't said-"

That wicked, toothy grin spread across Sam's face. She looked over her shoulder as Alice Milton (the new female student lead) called out, "Sir! We've elected Rose Weasley to represent us, Gryffindor that is."

The Slytherins looked to Sam warily. Orinsworth did the same to the Gryffindors, "Miss Weasley tied her first attempt. You sure about that? No guarantee the Slytherin's going to stand still." Alice looked worried at the headmaster's teasing, but Finnegan and Weasley nodded in reassurance. Alice passed on the confirmation to Orinsworth. It was pretty clear, despite official roles, Rose was still in charge of her class. The professor turned to the other side, "And for Slytherin?"

Samantha licked her lips, her grin still wide, but said nothing. Perry, Albus, Scorpius, just about everyone nodded to Lila. Who was really their leader now? Lafayette raised her hand, "I will represent House Slytherin, Headmaster."

"Places then!" At Orinsworth's order, Leilianna rushed to the far end, Slytherin resumed their spots while Gryffindor held bunched up near Rose. The headmaster raised his arms to quiet everyone, "Step it up, my signal, you go." It worried Rose. Sam smacked Al's arm at his chuckle and he returned the favor. The professor swung his hands down.

 _"Explerimus!"_ Rose's shot glanced across Lila. Lafayette had dropped to a crouch, but the hit scattered the wand across the stage. Cheers and applause from the assembled Gryffindors broke out.

Orinsworth was just as ready to call it when ...

If Al hadn't been watching his wand roll across the stage, he wouldn't have caught Lila's lunge, her wand as it slipped from her sheath into her hand and the red streak that flew from it, _"Stupefy!"_ Rose dropped.

The Gyffindors gasped, a few rushed to Rose. Both sides held their wands at the ready. Orinsworth held up his hands to hold off the potential battle. Then, almost reluctantly, he dropped one hand, pointed with the other and called the verdict, "Slytherin."

It was literally underhanded, but they won. Al thought, _Perfect!_

Scorpius

 _Perfect ... just PERFECT!_ Scorpius thought to himself. That could not have gone ANY worse! Of course Slytherin would cheat. It was no shock that Witherspoon came up with the plan. But Leilianna, did she really need to go along with it? She was Slytherin, though. So was Scorpius now.

The Gryffindors let Slytherin leave first. They didn't dare turn their backs so soon. Scorpius wished Stansfield had been there, perhaps she would have kept the first years in line.

Alchemy wasn't far from Defence. The class went better, thankfully. Instead of facing off against each other in some potion contest, Madame Tomlinson issued a quiz that everyone completed on their own. Rose Weasley was the first to walk up and hand in her parchment. She did not appear at all pleased, though. Soon after, Scorpius (joined by a few others) handed theirs in, as well. The reason for Rose's disappointment was obvious. Next to Rose's quiz was a parchment folded into an airplane, the name "Witherspoon" written on the tail. As Scorpius placed his on top, another plane landed: Lafayette.

Madame Tomlinson was not pleased either, "Mister Potter, what does the wag of a finger and a shake of the head mean in London? Continue or cease your shenanigans?"

"No, ma'am - I mean seize, err, stop, madam." Albus was appropriately chastised. Beside him, Samantha rolled her eyes while Lila was embarrassed. Portia hastily unfolded and flattened her own quiz and turned it in herself. Witherspoon's bad influence had certainly landed her in the correct house.

History could have been much worse. The Slytherins, fresh off their double victory in Defence and Alchemy (in addition to Slytherin having the higher average, Samantha had the first of three perfect scores) were prepared to continue their spree. Scorpius was glad to discover that while Professor Binns was still off his tracks, not only was there no quiz (and therefore no competition), but that Leilianna and Peringold kept their house behaved through History. Their side? It was still difficult for Scorpius to accept, but it was his side, too.

Ch 30 Size of the Fight

Sam

What had the big issue been then? Well, there were days and weeks and months to go. Even more people knew Sam's secret (tiny and weird, but people nonetheless). Still, the classes weren't boring. It was a sort of relief to have Lafayette steal the show in Defense. Sam didn't want to show off again, especially not after Transfiguration (yesterday, by today about a quarter of the people got their dumb needle done). And Defense? Sam could have beat Weasley. Teachers were never happy about barbequed students, though.

So far, the biggest issue of the exchange was the emphasis on enchantments (Charms, whatever they called it). While Sam had (likely) done a lot more magic than any of these other kids, it wasn't the same kind though. Leilianna stunned Weasley; Sam would have had to cook her. Hogwarts did have some important lessons to learn.

"Miss Witherspoon?" Professor Thomas was disappointed.

Sam raised her eyebrows, "Physics, it's floating." A fire in her hand burned beneath an iron mesh (wound together from transfigured toothpicks), a singed feather hovered just above.

The Charms professor was not as amused as earlier in the week, "Not quite the point of the lesson. Perhaps if you focused on the feather itself." No humor as he moved on.

Sam squeezed the fire out, "Stupid fairy sticks."

A trio of Ravenclaw girls watched on, one of them commented snidely, "It's a poor witch blames her tools ... quite poor if she can't even afford them." Her friends snickered.

Sam dropped from her seat, hands on her hips, "Watch it, witch! Play with fire -" Behind her, the feather ignited upon the glowing wires. Sam waved her hand to punctuate the threat.

The one girl wasn't impressed, "Too lazy or too stupid to learn, I guess all Slytherins do is play."

A cough from the rear of the room served as reminder that Skein was still on watch. It wasn't enough to discourage Sam entirely. Another of the girls, one Sam almost remembered (long nose, affected boredom) spoke up, "You could have one fitted to you. Wandmaster Ollivander's craftsmanship is more than worth a few galleons."

"Olive and her what? A few ships?" Without understanding, the suggestion did little to calm Witherspoon.

A soft touch from behind was just enough to distract Sam, it was Leilianna. Predicatbly, the lead student didn't want things to escalate, "Galleons are gold coins, Ollivander's wands cost seven. He made mine, you can borrow it."

"Mind Lafayette didn't say she paid for it," snapped the third girl of the Ravenclaw trio. Leilianna held still. Sam didn't have as much restraint. She kicked the girl's stool out from under her. As she stumbled, Sam grabbed the girl's raised wand-hand and yanked her up face-to-face, "Ya' know, the best wand ever can only be stolen or killed for." Sam forced her grimace to a smile and eyed the girl's rippled, pale-green twig, "You done with yours?"

Lila hissed, "Sam!" She tugged Sam back to their desk. Professor Thomas noticed the commotion too late; he was suspicious, but not certain enough to deduct points either way (and few ever seemed disposed towards asking Skein).

The second Ravenclaw (Sam saw her in Divination, handed out the papers, it came to her ...), Talyn Burkes sneered, "Not even Katrina Lafayette can steal one of Ollivander's wands. Too bad the same can't be said for other businesses."

If the witch wanted a fight, Sam was happy to provide it. She turned to resume the festivities, but found her right hand held. Leilianna whispered, "Please, let it go."

Sam didn't want to let it go, but she didn't need any magical empathy to read Lila's desperate plea. "For now," Sam breathed a long sigh, "Let me try yours ... for now."

The wand wasn't much help, not with the feather, nor with Sam's mood. On the upside, there wasn't going to be any grounds work after class.

Slytherin once again amateur-marched down the stairs. The Gryffindor first years raced up, but they were on a different track of steps. Witherspoon was still ticked about the Raven girls in Charms. Then, with the Gryff's out of range, she was denied another outlet for her frustration. Sam thought out her music, worked her fingers on absent strings. She could imagine the thrum of the bass guitar, but it wasn't enough.

The convoluted entrance to the common room was easier with someone else in lead. The second years had already staked their claims to the plush coaches (must have a closer class). Sam wasn't too concerned, there was a better loveseat (and a desk and a bed) in Lafayette's room. A sharp grasp held her back.

Miss Skein raised an eyebrow, "Old Akkadian saying, 'select your allies and you take on their foes. Select your foes and you take on their allies'."

Sam squirmed out of the woman's hold and snarled, "I'm American, lady, we'd rather be known for our enemies."

Scorpius

Malfoy couldn't face it alone. He wished he had known what Stalvan had meant, that the tradition was to grant a private room to the influential families of Slytherin. He would have refused if he had known. Then he wouldn't have to get past Nott. Ted Nott blocked the hall of legacy rooms (there were four here) talking to another second year boy. That boy pointed out Malfoy and eliminated any possibility of avoiding the situation.

Nott's attitude hadn't improved since yesterday, "Didn't think traitors rated special favors."

Scorpius wondered if Nott meant a traitor to the Death Eaters, or a traitor to the wizarding community as a whole. A Slytherin likely cared more about the first. Either was accurate, though.

Unaware of Malfoy's inner turmoil, Nott continued to rant, "Guess this week gave Potter time ta teach ya ta sit 'n' heel, since ya already a born beggar!"

This was about more than the room. What injuries and insults had the elder Malfoys made against the Notts?

"Guess tha Chief Auror doesn't forget his debts, or else yer father'd actually done time."

 _Done time?_ For what his Father did as a child? Or was there something else Nott knew about?

"Or maybe that's 'cause your family's in thick with all the other illegals, half-breeds, and mudbloods."

Scorpius couldn't believe what Nott said. He couldn't believe the boy had the nerve to even utter such words. He especially didn't believe that Nott abruptly fell to the ground as he fended off an attacker.

What was easy to believe was Witherspoon was the attacker. She swung her fists wildly. Despite her fury, Nott used one arm to guard his head and the other to cradle his leg. His retaliation exposed how lopsided the confrontation was: one hit to Samantha's cheek sent her tilting and reeling to the floor. Nott struggled to a crouch, but that didn't last long. Sam, propped back on her elbows, landed a low kick to his crotch, and sent Nott falling face first. She scrambled to regain her footing, but, even though he was prone, Nott kept her at a distance with just a hand. His other hand found her neck; his grasp limited her assault, pushed her down, and let him loom over her. Though his advantage was decisive, he looked undecided what to do next. Meanwhile Witherspoon, her face bloody, growled, then clawed at his arm. Nott screamed.

Order soon prevailed, "Nott, hands off! Witherspoon, back off!" Emmerlinse yelled. It wasn't his usual manner, though, there was something off. Despite the spectacle of the two students' fight, most turned their attention to the Flight professor. He held still against the far wall. "Get ..." he rasped.

Donohue suggested, "Healer Bell, sir?"

Emmerlinse shook his head. Witherspoon's chaperone spoke precisely, "Stalvan, girl, get Professor Stalvan."

And then Scorpius saw it: the vampire's irises normally small, red dots, were dark maroon and wider than humanly possible. Malfoy suddenly realised the cause and spun his attention back to the brawlers. Samantha had wiped the corner of her mouth clean, but a red smear shimmered on her cheek; Nott cradled his torn sleeve and held his nose as he leaned forward, drops splattered at his feet. _Blood!_

Skein strode forth purposefully, "Sergeant Taffy, perhaps we'd all be best served if you explained to Professor Stalvan the details as you have witnessed them." Emmerlinse cocked his head at the woman, lips snarled, but said nothing before he suddenly stalked off.

Samantha was predictably sarcastic, "Thanks, you're a nice lady."

The woman remained composed, "I stood up to him. Not for you." Skein dabbed at her own cheek. Sam scowled and used a cuff to rub the same spot on her face. The chaperone continued, "Roosevelt had a sentiment similar to yours, but he said it better: 'I ask you to judge me by the enemies I have made'."

Stalvan arrived swiftly. He called on a fourth year girl named O'Reiley as he looked over Witherspoon and Nott. The househead took closer note of the boy's arm and tended to his injuries with a few waves of his wand. Stalvan stood. Malfoy barely caught the professor's parting words to Nott, "I hear you've used that term again, and your zoological commitment will extend to all your days at Hogwarts." The professor addressed the young Slytherins, "Any other pressing internal issues in need of tending?"

Scorpius raised his hand. Samantha barked a single laugh. To each side, but not quite beside her, were Albus and Lila. Both of them eyed Scorpius with suspicion. He'd been dishonest with himself when he had trivialised the need, his need, for friends. Stalvan beckoned Scorpius to speak, "Sir, if I could, I would, I surrender my claim to a legacy room - quarters."

The househead responded plainly, "Denied, the challenges of conflict shall not be resolved by withdrawl."

The easy solution was rejected. At best, neither of Scorpius' friends were offended. They'd likely suspected Malfoy was going to declare who was to blame for the fight, but Scorpius held himself responsible. With no further call for his presence, Stalvan started for upper years' common room. Lila hesitated to step past Miss Skein to reach Samantha. Scorpius was ambivalent as to Lila's choice to associate with Samantha: she may have chosen to befriend the girl, but had she needed to extend her the protection of her room? On the other side, Albus positioned himself between Samantha and Ted. Rather than appearing to protect the girl, Potter looked like he was in need of protection himself. Scorpius called out, "Sir! I - under House Slytherin's articles of legacy I, err, claim ... privilege of service."

Stalvan stopped and turned, his brow wrinkled, "The privileges of the Lafayettes are not those of the Black family, Mister Malfoy."

Panic crept into Scorpius' voice, "But, but Albus Potter is also, I mean, he's from the Black family, too."

"Your claim is only twice removed, Mr Potter's is four times -"

Scorpius blurted out, "We can share!"

Albus snorted a chuckle, seemingly satisfied at the offer. Stalvan eyed each of the students involved in turn. As he did so, Malfoy saw how the spectacle of his request rivalled that of the fight. The househead declared, "So be it," then left in haste.

Sam

She had to get out of there. It was too embarrassing; not only that Sam lost her temper, but she had lost the fight, badly. Sure, she could have transformed, but then the matter wouldn't have been swept under the rug, she'd be arrested, deported, maybe even expelled. No, she had to fight on even terms, or as close to even as she could manage. Like the bet yesterday, no wands, no magma form (or any other for that matter).

Sam ran after Stalvan, but didn't find him or the entrance to his quarters. Another set of doors were open. Orinsworth regarded her with suspicion, "And what happened to you?"

 _Right, I'm a mess._ Sam wasn't going to betray Stalvan's recent show of discretion, "Uh ... nothing."

The headmaster scoffed, "Nothing, huhn?" With a wave of his wand, the duel stage floated into a ceiling recess, stones slid into place to conceal it, "I did my share of 'nothing' when I was your age."

A raise of her eyebrows earned Sam a wince of pain, "Bet the other kids regretted that."

Orinsworth shook his head, "Nah, I didn't win many ... 'nothings'."

Sam suspected it was a joke if not an outright lie, "Right, 'cause all the other kids were ogres in your day?"

The professor sat on the front of his desk and gestured up and down himself, "Oh this? You think I looked like this at eleven, or even seventeen?"

"Well..." Sam knew that was ridiculous, but, "... maybe seventeen."

"Close, maybe. I was probably only the second skinniest wizard in my year." The assertion only renewed Sam's disbelief. He raised an eyebrow himself, "Ask your househead, he was _the_ skinniest. Hell, two of us were practically twins back then."

"You and Stalvan? You've gotta be like ten years olll-." Orinsworth scowled as Sam gestured a circle around her hair. The offense noted, she bactracked, "Five, three, a month older - maybe?"

The headmaster sighed, "One month ... younger!" They both snickered.

The distraction didn't last long. Sam's thoughts went back to the fight, to losing, to the embarrassment, "How am I gonna learn to defend myself if I don't get to, like, do anything in Defense?"

Orinsworth paused, contemplated, "Well, judging by the lack of alarms, and our nonchalant audience, you didn't push yourself or anyone else too hard."

Sam shouldn't have been shocked that Skein had silently taken post at the entrance to the classroom. Arms crossed, she inspected her nails with a genuine expression of boredom. It annoyed Sam, but she had more important matters on her mind, "Well, I'm supposed to learn control here, right?"

The headmaster shrugged, "And I take it ya didn't kill Nott." He went to the doors and closed them, leaving Skein outside. Sam did nothing to hide the shock on her face. The fight had only just ended. Again, as if he could read her thoughts, Orinsworth went on, "Short list of suspects: Malfoy'd never hit ya, Donohue'd stick to magic and find herself unprepared, Nott's only one that'd give in to a scuffle who could get inta Slytherin, and Creevey woulda caught ya anywhere else."

Her smile hurt Sam's injured face even more than her earlier surprise, "Wow, you're good. Ravenclaw?"

"By mistake according to my wife, but I know it was planned," Orinsworth teased. Sam was sure she could have asked someone, but it was more satisfying to figure it out on her own. "Now, I can't turn ya loose on your classmates, and I don't want worse than your 'nothing' happening to anyone 'round here." He stepped to the center of the room, "Not sure what year ya'd qualify for in here, but I know I can adjust."

 _Wait, what?_ "You and me?" Sam pointed to her chest as if to clarify.

He tilted his head and scrunched his lips, "Too much? I understand."

That was not what Sam meant, "No way, you're not backin' out. I could do with a good fight - a magic one anyway." She repeatedly tensed and relaxed her hands at her sides.

The headmaser nodded, "All right, full elemental warding, 'specially the ceiling, you can go all out, I'll stick to tha stick." His previously missing wand spun around his fingertips.

Sam spread her arms, waves of scripted rings flew out and cascaded across the floor, walls and ceiling, her muttering paused briefly, "Really, just that weak wand stuff?"

Orinsworth flung his own spells to every corner of the room, "On your move."

The borders of the room crackled and sparked as the arcane and primal magicks overlapped. The brawl with Nott wiped from her mind, Sam calculated what she'd do, here and now. Three fast breaths, and she charged forward. Orinsworth waved his wand, but it was too late, Sam had burst into flames and shot through him. Or so she'd thought, it was just an image of the headmaster. Water gushed from the side, from the real professor's wand. It did little to the cloud of steam Sam had become, and even less to the water spout after that. A pulse from his wand shot Orinsworth back and up into the air. Sam reformed as herself, hazing out at the edges. Orinsworth held in place and launched another pulse. It did little to the granite girl. As she reached up, giant stone hands broke through the floor. He swiftly dodged their grasp, and fired back with a crackling black sphere. Her rocky form caused her dodge to be slow and clumsy. The explosion behind her carved out a pit in the ground and knocked her face down. Her form rippled and glossed over into obsidian. She looked up and sent a series of focused eruptions shooting from the stone hands. Orinsworth's flight faltered and he stumbled his landing. Sam got to her feet, her opponent might think the smoke and embers gave him cover, but she saw differently in each of her forms. She sensed movement to her side, but it was gray, insubstantial and nearly room temperature to her. A solid, hot mass was to her back. She pivoted and charged (even cool lava moves faster than expected). Too late, she realized it was a new kind of decoy. The pit from before swallowed her up. She grasped the edge and tried to match the stone around her to better meld with it and escape. A couple things were wrong, though. The stone around her resonated unnaturally making it impossible to move into. Then, something poured in over her. _Can't drown a rock!_ It gave her something else to merge with and escape. What was he saying?

For Sam to hear him in stone form, Orinsworth had to be yelling, but it was barely a murmur to her, "Don't go water! You'll be in the clinic all weekend."

She tried to figure it out. If he's telling the truth ... something toxic, that isn't water soluble, then magma or fire...

"And don't go lava, be putting you back together for an hour, fire and I'm not sure - DON'T DO FIRE!"

 _Oil?_ No, that wouldn't explode like - _GASOLINE!_ She'd lost.

"You done?"

She nodded. Steam or even mud would have absorbed it and sickened her, _Damn!_ A _levaterra_ spell by the headmaster and Sam was out of the fuel trap. She clodded off far enough and fired up. Her sight went white with the explosion of fumes. Human (-ish) again, an evil grin crossed her face, a flame in the palm of her hand, "Instant rematch?" She held the fire back as if to throw it.

"Careful - _liquimata_ \- what you wish for." The gas spiraled into a tentacle that zipped around Sam.

"Eek!" Sam squeezed the open fire out of existence.

"A lil' quake in the ground make it take you a minute to enter it. Then the petrol ta make you sick as water, mud or steam, blow ya ta pieces as lava, and ... well, I don't wanna be the one ta face your guardian if you couldn't recorporate from a fire form explosion." He gave her a moment to respond, but Sam just shrugged, "Ya bluffed going air, guessing you haven't learned how, but even if ya did ... Hogwarts' defenses would keep ya from turnin' inta pure air. Same thing that stops apparation, err, 'teleportation' to you. I'll see if I can suspend that in the future ta give ya more options, but not 'til yer certain of yourself do you go air!"

Sam was still disappointed, not as bad as before, but - "So what? There some non-graduates I can take on. That was worse than a newbie thrown in 'gainst the final boss. My bishop's wing got smacked!"

It was Orinsworth's turn to be shocked, "You play chess, too?"

Sam grimaced and shrugged. She shouldn't have referenced chess, even obliquely, "Not well, too impatient."

"There ya go then. Gotta think ahead. Ya cracked about wands in class, and I told ya I'd stick to my wand and yet you never made a move for it."

She hadn't, _Damn!_ She hadn't even thought to.

Again, as if he could read her mind "You don't use one. You don't think of it as a tool. But without it, a normal - err, _typical_ wizard's not gonna have much he can do. What he could cast isn't going to be controlled, won't be precise. Give you a huge advantage."

Sam sighed, "So, next time you're gonna get even trickier?"

Orinsworth snorted, "No! Point ain't ta beat ya, it's ta teach ya. You did great for a first try against a wizard four times your age. Take some time to think things out. Do more to defend yourself, study and direct your opponent, determine and go for weak spots."

She was wary, "No one at GLA would ever go one on one with me, always fought golems. We, you and me, gonna do this again?"

"Don't you think Mister Koverchenko already has enough evidence? No need to push the ghoul outta the attic."

Sam grimaced again, "The elves know."

The headmaster shrugged, "You and I'll meet up like this every other week, in the meantime - meantime, you play some chess." Sam was not reassured. The professor admitted, "Course the elves know, the elves know everything."

Leilianna "Lila" Amma Lafayette

The American woman closed the door and with it the narrow view of the classroom. The duel had been incredible. Leilianna stepped back, suddenly uncertain if she should be grateful for the chance to witness the event, or be concerned at what she now suspected about Sam.

The woman put a finger to her lips and whispered, "Shhh. Time you sneaked off, m'lady." Of course the chaperone knew Samantha's secret. However, it seemed, she knew Leilianna's, as well. Gratitude was a better fit than worry. LaFayette curtseyed and smiled before sprinting off.


	7. Chapter 31-35

Ch 31 Games People Play

Sam

It was time for dinner, but Sam was trying to avoided any more confrontations for the day. She didn't have much to pack since none of her electronics worked at Hogwarts (the converter couldn't keep up with the MASSIVE local drain). So, it was a bit of a surprise when Leilianna and Portia got back just as Sam was about to leave.

As she exited the little room, the other two girls looked shocked, too. "I'll ... see ya later." Sam was at least grateful that she could use magic to move the (too) heavy/bulky chest.

Leilianna sounded disappointed, "Be grateful Stalvan kept you out of any official trouble." The lead student seemed very by-the-book, maybe she didn't want Sam to get off so easy. Witherspoon shrugged and shook her head. It had been too good to last. No, it had been too good to imagine. Lafayette pleaded, "It could have been worse than losing a room!"

This was exactly why Sam wanted to do this before they got back, to avoid the drama, the blame. She especially wanted to avoid it since Sam was the guilty party.

The chest crept out and Sam reached to close the door behind her. Leilianna caught the door and yanked it back open, "I'll speak to Stalvan in the, well, on Monday I guess, and see if you can come back, I mean, you could wait 'til Sunday night to go ... if you have to."

 _What?_ Sam was confused. If what the girl implied was true, but no, Sam didn't want to get any false hopes, "Stalvan didn't say I had to go, I-"

Lila didn't wait, "He didn't? Was it Emmerlinse? Unless it's for Flight or Astronomy, don't listen to him!"

Sam was even less sure about that, "Even detention?"

"Well, no, I guess he can assign detentions, but he can't kick you out of your room! We'd all live on the pitch if he had his way."

"It's your room, and he didn't, I just thought - after the fight, and you're all proper and I'm a spaz ..." Sam trailed off. She didn't want to admit her embarrassing thought process.

Leilianna was taken aback, "I may not be proud of what my mother does, but, I still didn't appreciate Nott badmouthing someone whose family isn't some ideal ... you know, I don't know what Nott expects, Nott Senior works for the ministry. He's a, a, a ..."

"Hypocritical dork?"

"Not what I meant, but sounds bad enough." They laughed. Then, Lila said in a note of concern, "So, you'll stay?"

Maybe it wasn't too much to imagine. Sam nodded and smiled, "Yeah, I'd like that."

Jorval Stalvan

The door was opened by a girl not quite old enough to attend Hogwarts. She had large eyes and long, loosely curled brown hair. "Professor Stalvan," she said cheerfully enough.

The Slytherin househead raised an eyebrow, "Orinsworth." The girl smiled and nodded, then walked off. From beyond a stone archway came Katherine's call, "Elizabeth, who is it?" The school healer came out, her concern turned to warmth, "Jorry!" She held up her mitted hands, wearing an apron with cheese and flour smeared here and there, "I -" she blew several strands of hair out of her face. "This is why I asked Elizabeth to get the door. Gordon, Jorval is here!"

Jorval would have preferred to talk to Gordon in private as he had just finished doing so with Carlin. At the very least, he would prefer to avoid Peter. There was no reason to air his concerns in front of a boy incapable of keeping any confidence. Children were only tolerable once they could behave themselves.

"Have a seat, Jorry, be there in a sec, all right?" Gordon called out from another passage. Though the headmaster quarters were intended to house a family, Stalvan could not think of anyone but Orinsworth who had done so. When they were students, only Dumbledore had held the post (there were two others after him, but they had no family either). He sat at the table, Peter crawled into seat beside him immediately after.

"Are you and Daddy best friends?" the boy asked.

Stalvan took a deliberate breath, "Yes."

"But Mummy says you had a big fight."

"Yes." Jorval sorely missed Elizabeth's practiced demeanor.

As appropriate for a three year old, the boy asked a rather simplistic question, "Who won?"

What should he say? The headmistress and previous Transfiguration professor, Minerva McGonogol; Amanda Tomlinson, in being hired as the new Potions/Alchemy professor; Draco Malfoy, the man who had recruited her and convinced Stalvan to return; Gordon, his old friend and the boy's father? His playful wit wanted him to say "Hogwarts", for having such a brilliant and capable professor as himself, or ... "I did." Peter was disappointed. Of course the youngest Orinsworth did not want to hear, even by implication, that his father had "lost". But the response Stalvan had thought of took that into account, "I won by being invited to return to Hogwarts, and have your father as a friend again." Both smiled at the careful explanation.

Gordon Orinsworth entered. He was flush, with a fresh sheen; it was apparent he had just finished showering. His son rushed over, "'Fessor Stalvan said you're best friends, Daddy."

The headmaster looked curious, "Pro-fess-or Stalvan told you that? That was kind of him." Around the students and staff, Gordon carelessly alternated between the poor diction of his youth, and the educated manner of his school days; with his children, the proud father never broke from his more formal speech.

Jorval thought his suggestion would best be made before anyone settled down to the meal, "Gordon, when we're done here, I think there is an issue that must be discussed privately."

Elizabeth emerged from the kitchen with two meal-laden plates. She set one before her father at the head of the table, then the other before Stalvan, "Gentlemen." She stood still after her acknowledgement, and said nothing more.

The headmaster seemed to tense up, "Elizabeth-," but he was cut off.

Katie, Peter in tow, came out of the bedroom passage, "Gentlmen," it was identical to her daughter, or was it that her daughter said it identically to her mother? Katie approached her husband, the couple kissed, and then she walked down to Elizabeth and gingerly laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder, "Between Gordon and the elves, I don't get to cook often." She leaned over and gave Jorval a polite hug, "I hope you two enjoy catching up." She ushered the children along.

As the door closed behind his family, Orinsworth spoke gravely, "I think there's an issue with a new student of yours ... that we should discuss privately."

Sam

"Dread Mistress."

Sam didn't want to wake up. It was Saturday, wasn't it? She could sleep in. Not that she had stayed up late, after all, she had that detention with Emmerlinse. _ON FRIDAY NIGHT!_ Sam threw her covers off. She flailed around in the dark. Something thumped on the rug beside her bed.

"Of-course, dread-mistress, I-should-not-wake-you-so-carelessly, dread-mistress!"

Reality settled in on Sam, "Newna? 'Time is it?" She grabbed the jeans from atop her chest (she had meant to be ready).

The house elf (Chief?) knelt on the rug, reconsidered, then backed up onto the stone floor, "Quarter after eleven, dread mistress, forty-five minutes until appointment with Undying Professor Emmerlinse."

Sam took the time to tie her shoes when it registered that she wasn't late, "Undying? Dread? You have a special title for all us monsters?"

Newna backed up a little further and stood, "Not official." She grinned slightly.

Witherspoon paused with a sweatshirt over her arms, "Was that a joke, Dutiful Newna?"

The grin widened as the elf nodded almost imperceptibly.

Sam returned the broad smile, "Awesome! If you tell anyone what I am I will eat you - alive." Sam yanked her top the rest of the way on, checked her choker, and adjusted her hood in the door mirror before she looked at the elf again. Newna pawed and clutched at her uniform, terror in her eyes. "You got me?"

Newna bowed, her words spilled out, "Of-course, dread-mistress. I-would-never-betray- your-secret, dread-mistress."

Sam held the door handle and muttered, "Wish I could say the same."

Leilianna and Portia slept soundly through Sam's bathroom trip and departure. There was a couple in the common room (already distracted by each other), while voices and light came from down the far hall (not the legacy or bunk rooms). As Sam reached the Great Hall, it appeared that only older students were up late. They regarded the small girl suspiciously as she found a seat at the Slytherin table and tapped an order card. Though there were far fewer people, they were spread out and left fewer gaps. Sam snagged the "mutton wrap" (shwarma by any other name) and raced out of the hall.

Sam struggled with the front door and jogged out from the castle. The night air was cool and damp. The Quidditch pitch was lit only by the waning moon, there was no activity. "Huhn?" She rationalized that a vampire could see in the dark, but ... had he said where the detention would be? Without her phone, Sam didn't know exactly what time it was. Instead of threatening the elf, Sam thought she should have thanked Newna for waking her early enough to screw up (and to sate her hunger). Sam didn't want to ask one of the older students for help, she didn't want to look stupid. Instead, she went inside and slowly climbed the broad marble stairs in the entrance hall. Sam sighed, she'd have to ask someone.

"Hold, diminutive bandit! Reveal yourself!"

 _What in the-?_ The armored knight, quite small himself, was out of place in the enormous painting of a magical library in ancient Rome (or Greece, whatever, whit-ish guys in white togas or tunics). He wasn't even on the right scale. Mounted on an similarly (small) armored horse, they were still half the height of the man beside them. Sam acted indignant, "Whoa, Sir Pervacil!"

"I'd gladly accept a comparison to brave and noble Percival, but your tone and manner is that of a ruffian, make yourself known!" The little cavalier poked his lance as if he could reach beyond the painting. Even more disturbing was that the canvas actually stretched out.

"Who the hell are you?"

It gave the painted knight pause, "Well ... yes, by the chivalric code I am obliged to identify myself first." He raised his lance upright and pulled his steed's reins to stand tall(er). He raised his visor, "I am Sir Cadogan of Colwyn." Pleasantries aside, knight and horse went back to their original challenging stance, his visor dropped into place, "Now, make yourself known!" The horse whinied threateningly.

Sam pulled back her hood carefully and responded mockingly, "Samantha, of Jersey. I am charged to seek the Warrant Officer Emmerlinse of Fulovitville."

"Ah, the southern Isle of Jersey, no wonder you warm yourself in such strange garb. I warn you against seeking out this debased bloodsucker! I shall guide you to the threshold of his lair, but he has twisted his dark abode against those who dwell beyond your narrow realm." The horse turned once left, then right, as if thinking over the best route.

 _Narrow realm? Guide me HOW?_ Then again, seeing as Cadogan didn't look like he belonged in the ancient library ... sure enough, the little, crazy dude drove his mount up and out to some seaside cliffs in the next portrait (disturbing the group of men in trench coats and fedoras on a beach hesitating before a sea monster). It took a moment for Sam to process and give chase.

Cadogan took it for reluctance, "Come now, mayhap a daunting quest is upon you, yet 'tis your sacred duty to challenge the foul blackguard!" Maybe they'd ruffle the Fat Lady on their way.

They'd gone high enough, but up the wrong tower for Gryffindor. By the last staircase both Sam and her escort were huffing and puffing (the rider at least, oddly enough the little horse was fine). Sam was not happy, "If - if - if YOU - if this is a wild ... goose chase -"

"GEESE! You claimed your quest was to dispatch the vile vampire. Geese, my lady, are _this_ way!" And he was off again, banging through an operating room with several wizards gathered around a stitched together corpse.

Bells rang. _Midnight!_ There were three doors to the left, one to the right, and that was relying on this being anywhere even NEAR where the vampire instructor was. On the first gong, Sam pulled at the first door and exposed a toilet and sink. No luck. Two more gongs, but the next door was locked. The third door swung open with the fourth gong.

"Ah, Whimperstool! Come to end it all from the Astronomy deck?" Emmerlinse raised an eyebrow as he regarded the young student.

Sam returned the same expression, but out of confusion instead of amusement, "Uh, no, I, uh, just wandering around. New in town and it's the weekend." If he didn't remember, she wasn't going to clue him in.

The professor took a moment, "Looking for the clinic?" He gestured about his face as if to mirror Sam's injuries. "Or 'ave we got an appointment?"

Sam frowned, "No, no, of course not, I was just -"

"Yes, detention."

Sam panicked and crashed into the wall, nearly losing her balance as she turned back, "How?! When? Sheesh, freaking ninja!"

Skein grimaced. The "proxy" was amused, "Really?"

Emmerlinse chuckled at Sam's skittishness, "Pshaw, Slytherins lie. Better if it weren't to each other, but, she's young." The vampire hadn't been lying before, he really was much less hostile at night. That's right, he was the Flight _and_ Astronomy instructor. His hostility came closer to the surface, maybe because Skein's "advice" after the Witherspoon/Nott fight, "You can go now, madam, I can manage the lil' hellion."

Skein was similarly hostile, "So you say." Upset or not, she did leave.

The professor opened the lone door on the other side of the hall. Sam hesitated to follow, but saw it was just an office. Well, not _just_ an office. The rear wall had a huge British flag, with smaller military flags to each side, and pictures and awards all over the place. The desk was also huge (though plain) and similarly covered in military memorabilia. "For the broom? That what this about?"

Skein wasn't here to correct whatever Sam said, but the thing about not lying to each other stung. She stuck to the truth, "No, I ... Britain needing U.S. help in World War Two."

Emmerlinse sat in a large, leather office chair, "Ah! Yes, King really put us in a pinch, worthless PM. Thank God that all changed." He was still a moment, "And you knew about how you all were stonewalled in 1815. Quite a setback, if not a complete loss."

Sam nodded.

"And I gave ya detention. Doesn't quite seem fair."

Sam shrugged, but no one said anything. Both of them were quiet, way too long for Sam's comfort, "Uh, so, you're, I mean, your accents a lil' different, are you Irish?"

Emmerlinse leaned forward to sit up, "Ah, right, impertinent, ignorant American. Take these and grab three color quills: red, yellow, green." He handed over a thick stack of note cards and pointed to a cup with a mix of old pens, pencils and quills.

"Seriously?" Sam glanced through the cards quickly, a bunch of names followed by letters with tallies, slashes and exes.

The professor tossed aside a parchment on his desk, "Hmmph, red ex on anyone with an ex in any category, three cross outs, or less than three marks in all categories. Green check for anybody with four plus in all categories. Yellow for the rest."

She should have asked what was in the room he'd just come from instead of the accent thing. _Ugh, this is gonna be boring!_ Well, at least leaving the yellows for last made sense.

"Welsh." The professor's random statement made Sam pause. She looked at him then around the room to make the point she had no idea what he was talking about. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, "I'm from Wales, I'm Welsh, ya daft bint."

That last word intrigued Sam, she raised an eyebrow.

"It means _girl."_

Sam's eyes went wide, "Oh I know what it means, _yah ewstathz."_ She addressed him as "professor" in the same language as "bint" as a test.

It was the professor's turn to raise an eyebrow. Instead of clarifying, he went back to the parchments before him. He did **not** actually know Arabic.

According to the old-fashioned desk clock, it only took half an hour for Sam to finish the first part of her assignment. The names were obviously the first year Hogwarts students, and the marks were most likely Flight class scores (Sam's card had all exes and slashes). Emmerlinse was still absorbed in whatever he was working on. It gave Sam time to observe all the military mementos. Ten minutes felt like ten hours with nothing to do. It was late, and Sam was tired, she let a curious inquiry slip, "So, why didn't you join the Marines?"

Emmerlinse snorted, but didn't look up, "And be a blowhard bootneck, sissy, sailor servant? No thank you."

Sam was shocked, no, _incensed_ , "Marines! Sissies?"

The professor faced her and smirked at Sam's reaction ,"Haha. All right, maybe not your Marines, but ours." He went back to his papers.

"And what does that mean?" She genuinely did not know.

He briefly paused in his work again, "Look, maybe you haven't had a chance to witness our glorified gunners in - ha! - _action_ , they wouldn't measure up to the standards I've witnessed of the **U-S-** M.C."

Sam looked around in exaggerated thought, "Aaannnd what did you witness?"

Emmerlinse resigned himself to not getting his work done, "I guess you got a special interest due to your related nickname."

"Huhn?" Again, she had no idea what he was talking about.

He gave her a condescending stare, _"_ _Teufel hunden_ _?"_

Sam sank and sighed. She responded humorlessly, "Ha - ha. Devil - dogs. Hilarious." Then it sunk in and Sam's ire rose, "Wait! How do you know?"

The vampire tapped the side of his nose, "The nose knows, even without Nott bloodyin' ya. Haha! Yours and mine got a long history. Seen a lot of muggle stories 'bout this side and that using this monster or the other in the war. Not sure what's worse, when they get it wrong, or when it's so close ya wonder who the wizard was clued 'em in: British werewolves, Jerry's demons, Americans allied with Count Dracul, Frogs makin' knockoff Frankenstein, toss in a Rusky lich or a yeti for good measure."

They laughed at both the amazing mistakes and uncanny truths hit on by people who (supposedly) had no idea of the reality even stranger than their fiction. The humor didn't last long as the previous topic weighed on Sam's mind, "So, you ... smell blood?"

It ruined Emmerlinse's mood, as well, "Oh for God's sake. Every year a few of ya hens realises that and **I - don't - care** , it's a lot less a temptation than what's in your arteries, I know the damn difference."

Sam hadn't meant _that!_ "No, but, I mean, I - smell different?"

Back at his work, the professor answered offhandedly, "A bit, if you consider the Atlantic 'a bit' of water. Don't worry, you clearly want to keep it under wraps. I haven't said a word, not even ta the headmaster. Figure ... that woman has got your leash well in hand."

She should have known the vampire would know. Her school should have known _any_ vampire would know. Maybe they did, and they just didn't care. Yet, Emmerlinse didn't know everything, not if he thought Orinsworth didn't already know. "Well, thanks for that ... I guess."

He set his stack aside and laid his arms on this desk, "So, 'stead of boring you with those," he reached out and Sam handed him the pile of cards. He seemed impressed that she was already done, "how 'bout I tell what I did see of your devil dogs, human and otherwise."

Sam put her annoyance aside, "You - were you at the Battle of Belleau Wood?"

Emmerlinse then smiled more out of respect than humor, "You thought I got turned in eighteen-fifteen, more like nineteen-fifteen, but I've seen my share."

The stories made the analysis of other people's broom scores go by quickly. Sam didn't even notice the time until the vampire's clock rang at five.

As Sam descended the stairs, she imagined how the only thing that would have improved Emmerlinse's tales of military heroism and tragedy in Europe would have been having Chief Warrant Officer Twin Bears there to include the events of the Asian theater and to deflate the undead windbag's ego now and then. Emmerlinse was full of himself, but he sure could tell an interesting story (he even managed to give credit to other people now and then).

A few students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor rushed down the stairs to the Great Hall. In Sam's opinion it was still very early for so much activity on a Saturday. However, the Flight professor's assignment had solved that mystery before Sam even knew it existed: Quidditch tryouts were today. That interested her very little except for one thing. She checked the Slytherin table. As she'd expected, Albus was devouring breakfast as he spoke and spazzed about with a few other similarly enthused boys (Scorpius was comatose in comparison). Sam took special note of a few details about the "hopefuls", and recalled one of the Flight student files that she had sorted through.

In the luxury suite, Sam sneaked in quietly, but found her efforts defeated.

"Oh, hi, Sam. Professor Emmerlinse kept you all night? Your eye looks terrible." Leilianna spoke quickly as she perched on the edge of the monster bed. She was in her nightshirt, but also wore jeans and boots.

Sam held her hand to her puffy cheek. She decided to go ahead with her plan, "Hey, Quidditch tryouts are about to start, let's grab some grub and go watch. Portia!"

Portia rolled over, "Whaaa?"

Leilianna was fast to answer, "Sam suggested we go to the Quidditch tryouts, do you want to go? It'll make a lot more sense to see it in person, and slower than a real game. I mean, I don't think it's going to be a real practice, but you should see it before the opening match. Maybe the upper league will practice, their tryouts are later today." A mile a minute at five in the morning.

Sam, already dressed, made to help Lila while Portia went to the bathroom.

Lafayette's wardrobe was pretty simple; robes, T-shirts, a pair of slacks and a few blouses. Sam wasn't certain she'd find what she was looking for, except she was _totally_ certain. And find them she did, then stuffed her hoodie pocket.

Hirsch exited the walk-in closet in an elegant blue dress with white lace trim and a matched broad-brimmed hat, pale blue stockings and beige flats. She looked both stunning (fashionable) and stunned (not quite awake). Sam and Leilianna, each dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, looked at their roommate with astonishment. Portia was sullen, "What? Sports on brooms, you said it's like polo, right?"

A quick explanation of morning fog, mud, and the likely state of the stands had Portia in a much more appropriate outfit (a designer track suit and brand-new sneakers).

Time was short, and the girls rushed to grab what food they could carry. Leilianna walked between the other girls. She held her stash but ate nothing on the way to the field. It would have been difficult to eat with as much as she talked, "So, there are seven players per team. One keeper, like a goal tender in football."

Sam chimed in, "Soccer."

Portia sleepily corrected, "Britain, football, a keeper?"

Lila continued, "Right, a keeper, pretty simple except they have three rings to block, but there's only one quaffle. The quaffle is the main ball, red, a trainer has pits so you can grab it, regulation is round with a grip charm. So, not like football, or soccer, that way."

Sam talked through her food, "How many balls does this have? Which one explodes?"

Portia almost choked, "Explode?"

Lila made an exaggerated sigh, "None of them explode, that's Quadpot, about as much like Quidditch as footy, soccer is like American Football. Anyways, there are four balls total. The quaffle, though -" Sam offered a folded waffle to Lila. She shook her head slightly (and ignored the joke) and went on, "three chasers try to score goals with the quaffle, ten points a goal."

Portia swallowed her bite of apple before she asked, "Is that the same for each ring? Or does it matter if you kick or throw and which ring or such?"

Leilianna faced Portia in disbelief, but realized the question was sincere, "No, Portia, that's rugby, all rings, same score. The different score is catching, no, that's later, before that, there's two bludgers, balls that try to knock you off your broom."

It was Sam's turn (not that taking turns had been discussed), "Balls? Or players? Are the balls animate or something?"

Her friends' lack of knowledge clearly disturbed Lafayette, "Yes, they are ... _animate_ , they're charmed to fly, and be aggressive. They can knock you pretty fierce, but only league bludgers, those are straight iron, no leather, only those pose a real threat of broken bones or falling off your broom or anything like that."

Sam interrupted, "Easy enough fix."

Portia was shocked, "Broken bones? Then what about your face?"

Sam replied, "I don't do medical healing unless I need it, but, even if bone powder tastes nasty, it works like," she snapped her fingers.

Lila cut in insistently, "We're almost there, I don't want everyone thinking you two don't know anything. So, two bludgers, with two players called 'beaters', they have bats, like cricket, they use to keep the bludgers off their team and _on_ the other team. Then the seeker and the snitch."

Sam nearly spit out her food in amusement, "Snitches get stitches!"

Portia snickered in confusion, "What?"

Lila rolled her eyes, "No, not like that, the seeker is the player who finds and catches the snitch, the golden snitch is a much smaller, winged ball, well, more like an ornate orb, but, the snitch is worth one hundred and fifty points, and once it's caught the match is over."

Sam reached her arm out across Lila's chest and barely touched Portia. They all stopped. Sam got slightly ahead of them to state her objection, "Wait a second, one hundred and fifty?" Lila nodded and opened her mouth to speak but Sam went on, "Why not just put all seven people to catching that damn thing?"

Portia nodded as Leilianna sulked and countered, "No, anyone but the seeker catching the snitch gets called for snitchnip. Even when it was allowed, that wouldn't have worked. The snitch is difficult to find, it's small, fast, it tries to hide, even worse when it's just been released. The other team could have easily racked up more points without a keeper at the goal."

Sam shrugged and was about to resume her argument when Lila turned her around and pulled the other girls to the underside of the stands. On the other side of the wooden bleachers were a lot of younger students and several teachers. Of course Emmerlinse was already there, he seemed to be the school coach (as if there were a competing school). Professor Thomas was there, too, Healer Bell, and some other adult. Albus, Perry, and Gnasher were there. Sam recognized Al's blond cousin Louie, and Rose (Weed Weasel) with him. Leilianna was insistent on where they sat, "Come on, the towers are too high for today, but usually the higher the better."

They sat down at the back of the bleachers. Sam stood for a moment and announced, "HEY! I'M American, I'm learning about Quidditch!" Portia covered her giggle as Lila sighed. Sam sat down and smiled smuggly, "There, all right, so, keep the keeper and block their goals, that's still six on the jackpot powerball."

Leilianna shook her head, "No, the beaters would have destroyed an unguarded keeper. Someone has to manage the bludgers. I think they were lead back when a snitchnip was legal."

"Lead, eww. Then four on the little gold ball. The risk/return ratio is just too high to give up a hundred-fifty points."

Another sigh by Lafayette, "In theory, but it doesn't matter because now it would be a penalty shot and the other side starts off with possession as the snitch is released on high. There was a bizarre thing called the 'white bear' tactic (who knows why?), but I've only ever read about one match where anyone actually tried it. It had something to do with the snitch being more difficult to catch if too many people were thinking about it."

Sam nodded in satisfaction, "OK, yeah, it's adaptive, the more you look for it, the harder it hides. When only one person is looking for it, it isn't as hard to find?"

Lila corrected, holding up a finger on each hand, "Two people, one on each team, imagine how bad it was with eight, four from each team. That match went on for a month! That's not even close to a record! It's why they made non-seeker grabs a foul. No one wants to sit around for a month for the grab, or worse, go home and **miss** the grab."

All three laughed, drawing almost as much attention as Sam's previous announcement. Sam offered, "OK, I got a deal for you, Lila." The other girls hushed, "If I know why it was called the 'white bear' tactic and how to do it, you have to do something for me."

Portia and Lila looked at each other slowly then back to Sam, curious half-grins between them. Leilianna hesitated, "I'll agree if you don't make it something awful. _Please!"_

Sam grinned broadly, "Don't worry. It's a psychological experiment to not think of a white bear. Except, once you're told to not think of the white bear, you can't _not_ think of it. Same thing with the snitch. So, for your team, what they would do is have the keeper and bludgers assigned already."

Lila piped up, "Beaters."

Sam shook it off, "Whatever, those guys are assigned already, then the other four are flexible between being a seeker or whatever."

"Chaser."

"Right (that name makes no sense), anyways, those four played both _except_ -"

Leilianna objected, "That's not realistic I mean, change-up chasers were exceedingly rare back then, but **now -** "

Sam grimaced and leaned in, "Look, they didn't need to all be _good_ at it, just think they were doing it. So, each of them is pulled aside before the match and told one of the others was the seeker, and that this person, the one they're talking to, needed to work at scoring that match, but if they saw the snitch, then go for it. Then, all four of them were working at being a chaser, thinking someone else was the seeker, and if any of them happened upon the snitch ..."

Leilinna brightened up, "Oh, Chaser's much easier than Seeker, so, you could still outscore the other team and, " she deflated, "... then it would have been easier for the assigned Seeker on the other team to find the snitch."

Sam raised her eyebrows, "I didn't say it was a _good_ tactic, I just said I knew how to execute it." They all laughed. In the field, the four adults called out to gather their students. Bell was apparently a Ravenclaw, and the unknown lady was a Hufflepuff called Brocklehurst. Sam stood on the bench ahead of them and centered herself on Lila. She was distracted just a moment at Scorpius arriving with a load of food in his arms. Sam focused and became very earnest, "OK, your side of the deal. You have to go out for Quidditch."

Leilianna's eyes widened in fright, "I couldn't. It's my first year. I'd never make it."

Sam was unaffected, "Sure right, that's why you were already half-dressed when I got back." Leilianna managed to blush nearly maroon. "You clearly love the game. If I was big enough, and in the States, and not pathetically slow, I would totally be the first woman on the Mets, well, considering the Mets, I still might."

It wasn't enough to convince Leilianna, "No, I couldn't!"

Portia supported Sam, "You seemed really excited about us seeing this."

Sam nodded, "And you didn't want us to embarrass you. I got that out of the way. You're welcome."

"I'd embarrass _myself._ I wouldn't need help. It doesn't matter. I don't have my - I don't have any equipment." Indeed, all the other kids there to tryout wore thick boots, gloves and an old-fashioned leather helmet.

Just as Sam had seen on Albus at breakfast. She pulled a pair of leather gloves from her sweatshirt pouch, "Like these?"

Leilianna's eyes were wide again, "Where did you -?"

Witherspoon pulled out the helmet and examined it, "'L-A-L', who could that be?"

Lafayette snatched her gear, and bit her lip momentarily, "You really think I should?"

Portia cheered her on, "Go for it!"

Sam tilted her head to the side and smirked, "You sit here and you aren't on the team for sure; you go out there, who knows?"

In a flash, Leilianna jumped up and hugged Sam around the neck. Sam awkwardly pulled away and held Lila away from her with one hand. She spoke in an odd accent, "No, one arm length person space you maintain." Leilianna looked genuinely hurt. Sam laughed, "Just messin'" She pulled Lila back in for a more deliberate hug. Leilianna recovered from the playful jest fast enough. She didn't even notice how carefully Sam held her own head to the side, "Go on." When Lila reached the end of the bleachers, Sam yelled out, "Go Slytherins!" The Gryffindors (including James Potter on the foremost bench) booed while the other Slytherins cheered (even Teddy Nott, who Sam had only just noticed on the field).

Portia, still seated behind Sam, inquired, "Think she'll make it?"

Sam muttered, "It would take a miracle," she turned back and stated clearly, "I have no idea. I don't understand this game."

Hirsch shook her head, "It makes no sense. What are we gonna do?"

Witherspoon shrugged, "Cheerlead?"

It cheered up Portia at least, "Like dance and boast about our team?"

"I was just gonna insult the others, but ... whatever."

Scorpius

An array of food covered the towel: a muffin with bangers and mash, bread and fried potatoes, an apple, orange and banana, his mother would have never allowed the first items. He also had a jam muffin (more bread) with bacon shoved in it. He wasn't sure what would be worse: eating all this or throwing it out under the Quidditch stands. He should have fed it to something at the zoo (which his mother might have been even more upset over). He'd managed to drop off the envelope for Professor Hagrid, but it had been made difficult by the food Albus insisted Scorpius hold onto (at least the towel kept the book beneath clean). He blinked in an exaggerated manner as if it would help him wake up. Albus had been the exhausted one in the morning all week, but apparently waking early for Quidditch was a special occasion.

Samantha, her face bruised and puffy, glanced at him then went back to talking to Leilianna and another girl. How had Scorpius not thought of that? He should have woke Lila to join Al, Perry, and himself. Leilianna assembled with the other tryouts, leaving Samantha and ... (Hirsch?) at the rear corner of the benches. The two of them started dancing. Scorpius turned away, anxious they might fall while he watched, even more afraid that it would amuse him. Pleasure at the misfortune of others was surely a Slytherin virtue. _Stop that!_ Scorpius scolded himself. The verdict had been made (the decision!) He was in Slytherin and he needed to stop thinking about it. (How could he stop?)

Emmerlinse spoke with the other staff. He showed them a stack of note cards. He shuffled through and pointed at a few students and called them out to go back to the stands. They hadn't even tried yet! Had Emmerlinse always been so cruel or was it part of being a vampire? Thankfully Leilianna and Albus weren't preemptively sacked. The first trial was to fly laps around four cornerposts. It took awhile for them to all set up inline. So many people (nearly fifty) hovered on their brooms in one place; it was a recipe for disaster. Albus disappeared in the mass, while Leilianna kept above it (literally) and continued to slowly rise by herself. She had to be nervous, so much more than Scorpius. She had little experience with large groups of people. The whistle blew and, predictably, the packed knot jammed and scattered, leaving ten or so people (including Rose Weasley) to scramble back atop their brooms. Emmerlinse shouted for the scattered students to stop polluting his field. There was no objection from the other professors. Rose dejectedly dragged a broom across the pitch. She saw Scorpius look, smiled briefly and gave a short wave with her free hand. Scorpius should have smiled back, waved back, something polite. Instead, he nervously glanced about. James Potter grimaced and regarded Scorpius with suspicion. No one else was going to forget who or what Malfoy was.

Scorpius tried to find Albus in the thick clot of thirty or so. Several dragged behind the pack, a few more were slightly ahead with Leilianna in the lead. She grabbed each post and swung swiftly around it. She was not nearly as high as she had started and seemed to be angled downward. Emmerlinse's whistle screeched and the fliers drifted around their course. Except Lila, who rose sharply.

 _Rose?_ She had sat on the bottom bench in front of Scorpius rather than beside her cousin. It might draw suspicion to pay attention to anything but the tryouts. Scorpius ate the bacon/jam muffin. It actually tasted good (most things that were awful for you did).

The next trial was to score with the quaffle. First unguarded (which eliminated a few who couldn't do that), then with one of the older students as keeper. The guarded shot seemed a matter of how close they came, no one actually scored. Pass and score attempts were next; neither Lila nor Al did well at the shooting, both were more than capable at passing.

The remaining twenty or so students were told to line up in front of the bleachers. A sudden flurry of black balls shot out from beneath the stands. A few students dropped their brooms and held their arms over their heads as they crouched, several more (Lila included) shot up in the air. Nott, Potter, Louis Weasley, and a couple others held their brooms out as shields. Emmerlinse cackled, "AH HAHAHAHA! Yah sure as spit got 'em, Stansfield, ah hahaha!" While the vampire doubled over, Georgia Stansfield came out from beside the stands. She smirked, but was not nearly as amused as the flight professor, "Outstanding ... haha, oh not you four, you're done, off my pitch. Whew, dunno what I'm gonna do wit'out ya, Georgia." The students that panicked at the volley of illusory bludgers were the ones dismissed. Conversely, the people that instinctively blocked were next tested on batting off real bludgers (Albus did not do well). Meanwhile, Leilianna and two others were flying laps on their own, but this time they maneuvered to tap baubles that hung from numerous rods. From his vantage, Scorpius could not see that the light signalled their success at tapping only the ornaments that actually matched the game ending "snitch".

With only sixteen left, there was nearly a disjointed match going on: six people batted bludgers back and forth with Emmerlinse; three chased a golden orb trailing behind an older student flying, apparently attached to her broom with some line; the rest attempted to score on goals guarded by other tryout students. This last group drew the most attention as Albus was able to block every shot by the other young students. Even Healer Bell was blocked on her attempt. The cheers and cries distracted Emmerlinse from his beater work, "Aw c'mon, Katie! I know Gordon wrangled ya out here for the Eagles, but show off summa that Gryffinsore pride, cantcha even score on a wee fanger?"

The healer rolled her eyes and hovered high above the ground, "I haven't played seriously in decades, Carlin." Without a sidewards glance she caught the quaffle thrown back by Albus.

Emmerlinse called out, "Potter!"

Albus answered, but kept his eyes on the ball-bearing healer, "What?"

The vampire sighed, "Not you, _Lames Potter!"_ James snorted his acknowledgment, but was not happy about it. "You gonna pass up a chance to show who's the better?"

At that taunt, James was up and grabbed the broom from Rose Weasley. Once he was astride and aloft, Healer Bell quickly tossed the quaffle to the elder Potter boy. He called off, "Louis, gimme a bloody noser, and help me cork this ... ma'am." The quaffle was tossed back and forth from Bell to James as they closed on the goal. The gathering fell silent. Al, in front of the center goal, tilted back from the advance until something stirred in his expression. He veered down into a bludger that shot up from below. James took the opening to fire his shot at a side goal. The confident grin on his face dissolved as the same bludger bounced the quaffle off path. Unfortunately, Bell was in swiftly, slapping the quaffle with the back of her broom and through the opposite goal. Al sneered as he cradled his left arm to his chest.

The crowd exploded in cheers; one high pitched voice came out above the others, Samantha clapped and posed as she pseudo-sang, "He'll block your goals and make his pass, Albus gonna kick your -" She bumped her hips into the girl beside her.

The other girl finished with, "- bum." She was clearly embarrassed, but most everyone laughed and applauded.

Emmerlinse cut through the noise briefly, "Nice Bell, but mine won't be facing you on the pitch. Thanks for showing who the real Potter is, Lame Weasel. I got my new keeper." James Potter took it even worse than expected. To a chorus of laughs and jeers, he landed roughly and threw the broom at Louis before stalking off the pitch. Everyone else was quick to move on as Emmerlinse continued his call outs, "And, Theodore Nott Junior, beater, Peryton Peringold, chaser, just like your great-grandfather. Bell?"

Bell, on Ravenclaw's behalf, picked a seeker and beater. Thomas made the choices for Gryffindor, and Brocklehurst for Hufflepuff. Half the tryouts gathered to their new teammates as the other half wandered off the field, dejected (though none made a scene on par with James Potter's departure). It was disappointing to see Leilianna not make the cut. Scorpius was also disappointed about her seeking comfort with her new roommates instead of himself, but how much of a friend had he been since arriving at Hogwarts? Guilt turned him away. Stansfield nudged Emmerlinse, pointing first at his notes then the stands.

The Slytherin professor bellowed, "Get your ears checked, Lafayette!" He had their attention (and that of several others). "I called ya as new seeker during the James Pouter's tantrum." It took a moment for the shock to pass and the girls to register what the professor meant. The girls' comforting hug tightened as they squealed and hopped about (and once again threatened to fall off the stands).

Even more uncomfortable than before, Scorpius made his way down the bleachers. Albus ran up and was caught by Rose, "Congratulations, Albie! I knew you'd make it." She paused in concern, "Is your arm going to be all right? You're not supposed to _catch_ bludgers."

Albus had mixed emotions, "Err, it worked, kind of, blocked James at least. Bell said it's prob'ly just a sprain, but she'll patch me up. We gotta talk ta Emmerlinse 'bout practice 'n' stuff. I'll catch up with ya after, I didn't forget ..." he shrugged and winced, "this time."

Rose smiled, "'It worked', indeed!" Al ran off. Weasley continued to beam with pride. "Oh, Scorpius. Were you here to try out, too?"

Scorpius' eyes widened, "No, not me, I ... I was only out to, err, support, err, those who can ... play."

She smiled and twisted in place, "Wish I'd done that, then I wouldn't have looked so daft."

Scorpius guessed she meant her gloves and helmet, but she looked more appropriate for the pitch than Malfoy did with his food-piled book in hand. "You could try again, Albus said first years rarely make it." The reassurance caused Rose to blush as her gaze darted about.

"Hey, Rose!" Sean Finnegan called out. He'd made it to the end, but hadn't made it to Gryffindor's team either, "Tough luck on that scrum." As he reached them, he glared at Scorpius, offended at Malfoy's very existence. "We got tha pitch in a hour, Thomas said we can practice with tha team, give us a leg up fer next year."

Rose was uncertain, she twisted and tugged at her ponytail and placed her other hand on Sean's shoulder, "I - Albus and I are going to Hagrid's. It's really important, Sean."

Finnegan relented with a nod, but hesitated to leave. A thought struck Scorpius, "You're going to Professor Hagrid's? I - I already - he has the drawing, but you could ask him ... if you still wanted to see it, the illustration I mean."

"Yeah." She raised her eyebrows, "Sorry that I-"

Scorpius shook his head and cut in, "No, no, it's fine."

Several others called for Sean and Rose to join them on the field. "Thank you," Rose smiled, lips tight over her teeth. She gathered her things and dashed off. Finnegan left without a word.

Scorpius wished he had trusted Rose to deliver his drawing. After all, she was the daughter of Ronald and Hermione Weasley. And who was he? The child of a Death-Eater, not one but **two** Slytherins. But now Harry and Ginivere Potter's son was a Slytherin, too. Scorpius held his eyes tight as he sighed. He had to stop dwelling like this. He looked at the Taxonomy book. He had phoenix eggs to research, magic-based metallurgy to find, and a letter to write ... to that Death-Eater, Slytherin father.

Ch 32 Ghosts of the Past

Someone else

NdM-P: The inquiries by the young man were well anticipated. Your preparation was invaluable. In regards to the interjected tale: Lady Windegarde was not likely in need of saving from a dragon (closest match Wilma Windegarde. Known alias of a reputed con artist/metamagus Ursula Negron - NOT nobility- convicted of illegal dragon rearing). Thank him for reporting the event, praise his quick thinking, and remind him of his oath in this matter (in THAT order!) Do not mention the facts of "Lady Windegarde" unless he becomes insistent on our somehow pressuring for his inclusion in HH.

FF: Your diligence is appreciated, but, for the hundredth time, there is no further need to report there is nothing significant to report on this subject. File any notable activity as you would any strays from the HH.

MEW: There is nothing to be done about her predilections. Barricading her from certain facilities will likewise barricade us from certain avenues of information. She is technically a minor if that is any consolation.

HR: "Granted a favor" to a student? Her previous favoring of a student resulted in many lives lost! Evasive or not, you must discover the nature of this favor and identity of the student ("one of mine own"? - the elves of her house usually cooperate, but may not if she is known to be involved - proceed accordingly).

CCB: The American's abilities and nature will continue to have an effect. The saving grace is the students' perception of his unreliability, while his actual unreliability is an unpredictable threat to our mission. Subject 1 may be useful in resolving this problem.

BB: Your assessment is nearly accurate: the guardian knows, the girl likewise knows (vice "suspects"). THIS is why your requests regarding P have been denied. For what minor chaos he causes, he serves as a distraction to BB. Let up on your restricting measures, then engage BB and plead his aid in restraining P. He will be distracted by the chase, then by allowing P to operate and remind us (you) that he is important. Manipulate him into thinking he manipulates you! Keep him distracted!

P: see above.

Albus

He made the team. That should take the broom out from under James. If that didn't, the bludger block sure did. A sprained wrist was worth it (especially as a single wanding from Bell fixed it up). Rose might not have made it onto her team, but she didn't seem upset at all.

Rose moaned, "Oh no ... James."

Al's brother leaned against the moss-etched hut, "Real proud of yerself, ain'tcha, Albie?"

There was no avoiding him. Al didn't recall Hagrid having a backdoor (there was one, but Al didn't remember it). He snapped back instead, "Looks like Gryffindor needs better chasers. Maybe you can get Healer Bell outta retirement!"

The boys insulted each other as Rose pounded on the thick door, "Hagrid, it's us!" She struggled to tug the door open without waiting for a response.

"Rosie! Al! And James, great to see yeh!" Hagrid's enthusiasm cut off any fighting between Al and James (for the moment). "How'd tryouts go? Woulda gone meself, but Emmer- Professor Emmerlinse had summat for Georgia, 'n' someone had ta see ta the Saturday feedin'"

Mention of Stansfield distracted Al, "Yeah! She made all these fake bludgers shoot at us! I got to tryout for beater 'cause I used my broom ta stop 'em, but I couldn't aim the bludger so they made me keeper instead."

Hagrid nodded and smiled as he took some cakes off the fire, "Keeper, that's great! Your dad and his before him were seekers."

Rose added in, "That's not why they made you keeper. You steered a bludger just fine with your hands, you even blocked a shot with it."

Al was surprised Rose sided with him so quickly, but why not? Because he was in Slytherin? While it reassured Al that Rose still liked him, it just made James madder (that, or the reminder of Al's recent success). James spat out, "Maybe you'd like ta join Slytherin, too, Rosie."

Hagrid set down the plate and warned softly, "James."

James rolled his eyes and shook his head. He grabbed a cake and looked at it oddly. His anger forgotten for a moment, he took a cautious bite. After chewing, he stated with disbelief, "Hagrid, these are ... all right."

The half-giant sighed, "Yeah, yeah. Hannah, err, Missus Longbottom -"

Rose giggled, "Hagrid, _Hannah's_ not a professor." Al had to smile along. As did James, until they both saw the other had reacted the same way.

Hagrid nodded, "Right, right, anyways, she, err, gave me some tips." Al winced when he remembered his "backup food" was with Scorpius. Uncle Ron had warned Albus against eating anything Hagrid offered. There wasn't much choice now, but while the nut cakes weren't as good as the ones from the Great Hall, they sure weren't the "baked stones" Rose's dad had described. Hagrid poured tea into several mismatched cups, "So, Slytherin, how's that, Albie?"

 _Ugh!_ Al hated being called Albie, but almost everyone who did it meant well. It made it hard to say anything to stop it. He focused on the question instead, "Great, Hagrid. Scorpius had his own room, but he got me in there, too, so I don't haveta sleep inna bunk room."

Hagrid smiled, but it was James who spoke, "Ya mean Scorpius Malfoy dontcha?"

In the face of James' hostility, Al thought of Vicky, but felt her reactions would be too nice, and went with imitating Samantha instead, "Yeah, and this is Rose Weasley, I'm Albus Potter, and what's your last name Professor?"

Hagrid's whiskered face scrunched up, "Hagrid. Rubeus is meh first name." Al's ploy worked at irritating James, but it accidentally distracted Al, _Hagrid's first name isn't Hagrid?_

"Ha - ha," James mocked amusement and then attacked, "Don't act like ya don't know who his father is, Albie! Don't act like that guy didn't try ta kill Dad!"

Hagrid calmly protested, "It weren't like that, James." He held up his mug as if doing so would make everyone take a drink and stop arguing.

It didn't get James' attention at all, "Malfoy let the Death-Eaters in, he got Dumbledore killed! _Albus_ Dumbledore, or you still haven't figured out who that was?"

It was a lot easier to say something to someone who didn't mean well, "Stop calling me 'Albie', Jimmy!"

Rose pleaded weakly, "Please, Albus, James."

James continued to rant, "No! Don't act like you don't call him 'Albie', too, Rose, he's a traitor, he's turned on the whole family!"

Hagrid wiped tea from his beard, "James, the sortin' hat had its say, don't blame Albi-, don't blame Albus."

In his anger, Al missed Hagrid's self-correction, "Blame? What's there to blame for bein' in Slytherin. Dad said it was fine! Why can't everyone else be fine with it?"

A light hand laid on Al's arm, "I'm fine with it." Rose smiled unconvincingly.

Hagrid tried to keep the peace, "Albus, it ain't that, we're just worried 'bout ya is all."

James didn't agree, "I'm not worried. **Mum** is worried. Bloody hell, she's trying ta get the headmaster to put ya back in Gryffindor!"

Al stood and snapped back, "She better not! It's none of her business!"

Rose's grip tightened on Al's arm. Hagrid sighed, "Al, she's yer mum." He picked up the kettle and refilled his mug.

James threw up his arms, "Nah, he'd rather have Scorpy's cold-blooded bitch of a mother take 'im in. Well, she can have ya!"

Mostly, Hagrid "spoke". His English wasn't the best, but who's was? (Hermione, Rose, Hugo, Scorpius, Percey ...). A lot of times, Hagrid "bellowed", which was really the same as his speaking, just louder. This once though, it wasn't just loud, it was louder than anything Al had ever heard. "JAMES!" Hagrid shot to his feet, nearly filling the cabin. He roared, "GET OUT!" His enormous hand pointed at the door menacingly.

It suddenly occurred to Al that half-giant was still quite giant to all the NON-giants. Giants liked to eat humans (something about their bones), and were highly resistant to both magic and physical attacks (he had recently had a class on this). They stood two to three stories tall, their hands the size of a car, which they could throw like people threw quaffles. Hagrid was "only" a half-giant. He was still three meters tall and about two meters wide, and his hands, including the one holding a crushed tea kettle, were large enough to grab Al around his entire body (and Al was _not_ made of metal). Hagrid, formerly large and tolerable, was now immense and terrifying. Al was not alone in this feeling, as he, James, and Rose were all out the door in a heartbeat. They ran until they had passed the greenhouses.

James was shaken. Being just a bit older, though, he recovered (sort of) and turned his panic into rage, "It's all your fault, Albie! None o' this woulda happened 'cept for you!"

"My names not Albie!" _Then what?_ "It's Severus!"

Al's brother shook his head and waved dismissively as he stomped back to the castle.

"Al ..." Rose struggled to catch her breath, still scared, or was she? "We ... we should go back."

 _BACK?!_ "What are ya talkin' 'bout, Rose, I mean, c'mon, you heard well as I did. Told us to get out. It'd be rude to-"

She half gasped, half sighed, "No! He told _James_ to get out, we just, well, I'm not - I don't think we were too rude, but ... we should go back. Make sure Hagrid's all right."

 **"Hagrid?!** He's bloody well fine, I'd say, who's gonna mess with a raging half-giant?"

Rose didn't look scared at all anymore. Her cheeks were still flushed from their hasty escape, but she looked determined, "Severus, please." And she was quick to call him a name no one ever had ever really used before, not even Albus Severus.

He relented, "All right ... but if he says he's hungry, if his tummy even rumbles, we're outta there." The awful joke earned a snigger from his cousin.

Severus

Severus was surprised how far they had gotten. The other day, running from James, they hadn't really tried all that hard. That hadn't really been fear though, more like "bothered". But now Rose had him marching right back into the giant's den. She knocked.

There was a wet slurping (was Hagrid eating another student the way Mum would eat ice cream after a bad day?). "Go 'way."

"You heard the giant, man, professor, whatever, said 'go way'."

Rose rolled her eyes, "Alb- _Severus,_ don't chicken out, I thought Slytherins were tougher than that."

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "That's Gryffindor you're thinking of. We're sneaky, not stupid."

It annoyed her, "Fine then!" She pulled, the door wasn't quite closed (Severus vaguely recalled he'd pushed it to slow any pursuit). Hagrid sat at the table. Sitting made him only huge instead of monstrous. His head was cradled in his arm, and as they got closer (Rose pulled on Severus to stay with her) they could see he had a large envelope open on the table, a sheet of paper partially pulled from inside. The drawing was black and white, not perfect, but as good as any of Severus' comic books. It was of a girl sitting, her long white hair covered most of her face, and a black dragon curled around her, its wings, neck and head laid out on the grey stone floor. Across the girl's chest was a much smaller, slick and grey whelp. She held it close as it clung to her robes. Somehow, all the shades of black and grey were still realistic. Before Al could figure it out, Rose asked, "Is that her? Scorpius' mother?"

Hagrid removed his arm to reveal his reddened face, his beard and cheeks sprinkled with tears. He snorted, loud and wet, and blinked his dark black eyes. He nodded, "'Storia, Astoria Greengrass, err, Malfoy."

 _Astoria, Astoria, Astoria,_ Severus repeated the name in his head. He knew he was awful at remembering things, but for Scorpius' sake, he didn't want to forget this one. Rose figured out the person, Severus guessed at the dragon, "And that's Gretchen?"

Hagrid barely grinned. He was less and less scary, "Yah, she was just a wee thing then, guess they both were! Heh." The laugh wasn't quite real.

Severus was still confused, "Wait, which one's Gretchen?"

Rose lightly backhanded his shoulder, "The whelp, you dolt!" She sounded affectionate despite her words, then she gulped, "Can't you see her mother's ..." And a tear rolled down Rose's cheek.

 _What was it with the crying?_

Hagrid reached out and patted Rose on the shoulders. Those hands that only just recently seemed ideally suited for crushing bodies were now perfect for a caring hug (from across the table no less), "Yah. 'Storia found 'em in tha sewers. Her mutha was sick, it was ... too late, but 'Storia saved Gretchen. Brought 'er to me when ... when everythin' was over." He smoothed the drawing with his other hand, as if petting the dragon and girl as one. And, as one, the dragon's back and girl's hair smudged into a dull streak. Hagrid's eyes bulged, and he sounded like his normal (nice but slightly nervous) self, "Shouldn'ta done that. Oh no, oh no." He held the edges to the table as if it would fix on its own. When that didn't work, Hagrid patted his body and tucked into several pockets. Upon finding his wand, he spun his wrist and tapped the picture, _"Illustro Reparo!"_ The half-giant heaved a satisfied sigh as the smudge reformed into its original distinct shapes. "Whew!" Hagrid snorted and cleared his throat, "He's a right good artist, inn't 'ee?" He blew his nose into a rag.

That was for certain. As Severus examined it closer, he saw that the mother dragon's head was turned on its side, mouth open, eyes closed; he'd thought it was sleeping. In the girl's lap were fragments of a rounded shell. Had Scorpius found out the metal egg was a spitewyrm's? It was Scorpius' mother that knew the egg and chicken thing. Was this how she had figured it out? It took Severus a moment to think that through: it made no sense. The egg in the drawing was probably grey because it was done with a pencil, or just because spitewyrm eggs happened to be grey, too (not that Severus knew). Hagrid still seemed worried. Severus didn't want to see that turn back into rage, "He wouldn't mind. Prob'ly impressed you fixed it. He's real nice. Not, like, Weasley nice, but, I don't know, like, polite and ... he thinks about stuff."

Rose grimaced and playfully smacked Severus, "That sounds just like Molly! Our cousin, Molly _Weasley!"_

Hagrid and Rose chuckled. Severus clarified, "Yeah, 'cept, Scorpius, I mean, Mol tries ta see the best in everybody, Scorpius is more ..." He struggled for the word, then thought of one of their conversations, "He's more particular."

Rose scoffed, "So, like her father, Uncle Percy ... Weasley."

Severus shrugged, "Yeah, but Scorpius is ..."

His cousin summed it up, "He's your friend."

Severus nodded, "Yeah, I think that's it."

All three of them chuckled.

Scorpius

Just as quickly as the door had shut behind him it opened and closed again. Scorpius did not turn around, he assumed Albus had skipped out on his appointment with Professor Hagrid.

It wasn't Potter, though, "What happened?"

Scorpius startled at the unexpected voice, "Lila?!"

Leilianna shot back with facetious shock, "Hypie!" Curly strands caught briefly as she removed her leather helm. Scorpius thought to say something, anything, but Lila spoke first, "It's too bad you didn't bring Aitch-Pe. So, you're in Slytherin. What happened to your plan? I'd've been by sooner, but - I thought it was a secret, and with Potter around ..."

 _The plan!_ It hadn't worked, he hadn't even tried to make it happen when he had the chance. Scorpius sighed before he replied, "It ... I don't know, it didn't - it was silly." He wasn't prepared to say why he'd done what he had.

Leilianna decided to not force it, "Sharp move getting him- getting Potter in your room. Was that for his sake or _Mister_ Potter's? Either way, he's better off far from Nott, or anyone else with a grudge."

"A grudge?" That had been part of his motive, but Lila made the entire situation sound more sinister. Or did Scorpius think that of her only because she was a Slytherin?

She sat in the chair by the front door, removed her gloves and nestled them into the helmet, "Yes, a grudge. Ted's jealous, his father's only an Obliviator. The authority to erase muggles' memories is up there, but it's not even _close_ to Chief Auror."

"But that's their fathers, not them!" Scorpius' protest, though sincere, sounded hollow to him.

Lila looked about the room and pulled over the chair from the desk, "Auror takes five NEWTs, not just three." She patted the cushioned seat for Scorpius to join her and became enthused, "Oh, that reminds me, I'm going to change out History for Divination, Binns is duller than dead grass, and Firenze made it look much better than we'd thought. So besides Defence, that makes it Transfiguration, Alchemy, Herbology, and Divination. Plus Muggle Studies as a fallback."

Scorpius didn't sit, but he tried to be supportive as his doubts nagged at him, "The textbook makes it seem more appropriate, too. But you have to score an outstanding in Defence to apply for Auror training."

Lila sat straight, "And? I'm not worried about Defence." She slouched, "I'm having more trouble behaving like the Countess expects." She stood, straight again, holding her protective gear stiffly, "Proper before polite, professional over personal." Lila sank into the second chair and let her things fall to the stone floor, "I don't know how you do it. I can't keep being all posh, and in charge, and we're not even making marks yet. It's only been _a week!"_

She looked tired and worn, and maybe not just from the early hour. Scorpius stepped forward and put his arm around her. "I just try to do what my parents do."

Lila squeezed him tight then relaxed, but continued to lean into him as she ever-so-slightly whined, "We can't all have perfect parents, Hypie."

The "complaint" made him flinch. Scorpius knew how much Lila disapproved of her own mother, but his father was - _no._ He refused to even think of terms of whose parent was worse, this was not a competition.

He should have known that she could (figuratively) read him. She pulled slightly away and stood, still close. Lila took hold of his hands and shook them twice, "Oh Hypie, that's _your_ father, not you." And that's why his earlier protest rung false. He should have known Lila would understand, but then she said something he never would have guessed, "Anyway, if it wasn't for him, right now I'd be in France, ugh!"

Scorpius looked up in shock, "Katarina was going to send you to Beauxbatons?"

Lila rolled her eyes and smirked, "No, silly! It just would have happened. Your father's who brought her- brought our family back to Britain, to Hogwarts, the grand scheme to keep Slytherin from disappearing entirely."

He snapped back, "As if that would have been such an awful thing!" Maybe there were people within the house he cared for, but the house as a whole deserved nothing but contempt in his mind. The anger felt quite justified until he looked up and saw the hurt in his best friend's eyes.

Lafayette closed her mouth and swallowed. Before Malfoy could apologise, she mustered her confidence and declared, "Poor thing like Portia doesn't even know what she's gotten into, right?" Her face downcast, she yanked and twisted her Quidditch gloves, "Wish Flight was a NEWT course, I could do that instead."

Scorpius panicked, he couldn't let himself make this any worse, hurt Lila any more, "Congratulations ... on making the Quidditch team." It sounded pathetic aloud.

She faced him, the offense obvious in her expression and tone, "The _Syltherin_ Quidditch team? Ha! I wouldn't have dared try if Sam hadn't - but then she's just another one of 'us', isn't she?"

"It's not like -"

The door swung open, "Hey Scorp, I think I'm gonna go by Sever-" Potter looked back and forth from Leilianna to Scorpius, "Uh, sorry, mate, just," he pointed to himself, "Severus from now on, were you two -"

Leilianna turned to the door. She softly punched Severus' shoulder as she passed, "Good to hear someone's embracing their sorting, Potter, see you at practice."

Scorpius dropped back to sit on the plush bench at the end of his bed "Severus?" He asked. Potter nodded and plopped into the recently vacated chair. Before, Malfoy had thought about how it could not get much worse. "Great." He wondered how much of that was his fault, how much had he brought on himself, and how, as much as he wanted to, there was no one else to blame.

[Act II]

Ch 33 The Rest of the Month After the Longest Week of Their Lives

Scorpius

Scorpius wished he could say his situation improved as time went by, but for every step forward there was another step (or two) back. Professor Brocklehurst was introduced as an addition to Binns' erratic classes. She was more sensible and engaging, yet it seemed even she knew it wasn't enough. However, the Grey Lady was more elusive, unavailable for any hints as to the origin of the platinum egg.

Mr Malfoy's letter provided the chemical properties of platinum, but nothing about its magical properties. Likely due to that being the only information that had been requested. Scorpius worried that somehow the distance between them made him doubt even his own father's discretion (such as meeting strange women in parking lots). No, it couldn't be that, it had to be distrust of the owl network (even if, or perhaps because, it was the Chief Auror's son's personal owl).

His father held off on any advice about the sorting, or being in Slytherin, until "Family Day", the last weekend of their first month. This was its own issue, another contradiction in Scorpius' feelings. He longed to see his parents, but not with so many others about, especially the Chief Auror. Except, he wanted to see Chief Auror Harry Potter; Hermione Weasley, proprietor of the ill-named Magical Myth-tery Tours; and even Ronald Weasley, CEO of Wizarding Wheezes; just, not if Scorpius' parents were going to be there (Professor Longbottom was always there and no longer caused nearly the panic Scorpius had experienced when he first met him). There was no way to reconcile his embarrassment over his _potential_ embarrassment.

Saturday, 30 September 2017

Sam

Samantha was not going to duel anyone in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, _or_ Slytherin (Hufflepuff was spared from Defense with Slytherin, _wussies_ ). Instead, she served as an assistant to Headmaster Orinsworth (during practice, not instruction). She looked forward to it every Friday.

Others anticipated "Family Day" a great deal more (especially more than Sam did). Though, to be precise, anyone who wasn't Sam at least appreciated it was a Saturday. That their loved ones would be there was just a bonus. _Wait, "loved ones"?_ Not precisely. Leilianna prayed ( _literally!_ ) that her mother would restrain herself for at least a day. Severus ( _because "Al" had been pointed out as being too normal?_ ) was annoyed his "mum" wouldn't be there, but was looking forward to seeing his dad, but did not anticipate seeing him alongside his brother (little girl Potter would be with some uncle). Portia was enraptured with the idea of her parents seeing the castle. She spent nearly an hour figuring out what to wear ( _she has three wardrobe chests just for clothes!_ ), but Leilianna convinced her that the school robes and pointed hat would make more of an impression on muggle parents. In the spirit of unity (and laziness), Sam stuck to her own uniform.

Breakfast was incredibly crowded, somehow worse than even that first night at Hogwarts. The schedule had the families arriving after breakfast. Tours would be conducted per house. Slytherin had a caveat: only Slytherin alumni would be permitted to tour Slytherin living areas. Non-Slytherins, muggles included, would have an "extended reception" in the headmaster's quarters (Stalvan's were too small). That was quite a disappointment to Portia. She and Sam toyed with various means of getting around this rule until Leilianna caught wind of it. She warned against any such attempt and reassured Portia that even Lila's father (also a muggle) would be excluded.

Conversely, Leilianna had worried that her father being born in Ghana or his work as an electrician might offend the Hirschs. Portia couldn't answer directly to fears of racism (they had never discussed the issue). On elitism, Mr. Hirsch had a thing against people who went to Harrow or Cambridge (some prep school and a university so major even Sam had heard of it). Lila wasn't entirely reassured until Portia quoted her father in Herbology: "Money's filthy, dirt's filthy, but at least you can grow food in dirt." (Longbottom liked it enough to give Hirsch five points).

The big event for the day was the Quidditch exhibition at eleven. Leilianna assured Sam that the game would make more sense with players and an announcer explaining in real time. It was an underwhelming concept to Sam, except for two of her friends going on field with the Slytherin team (only upper year players were introduced by name, but the lower years would be flying around the stands). That was still two and half hours off, and a huge amount of having to watch others with their proud (and occasionally confused) families. Sam decided to make scarce rather than subject herself to that.

"Shiny, happy people laughing," she sang dully out the high window.

"You could join them, instead of hiding," Skein, as usual, was unsympathetic.

Sam responded in a deeper voice, "And where are your parents, little girl?"

"You say 'they couldn't be here'. You're obviously American, they'll understand." It almost sounded helpful.

But Sam was not in the mood to take advice. She continued in a higher pitch, but tried an English accent, "Oh dear! And what does your mother do? Is she a good witch or a bad witch?"

Skein went back to being terse, "You assume they'll ask about your mother."

Witherspoon shot back in an awful Cockney imitation, "Wot's 'er father up to? 'Ah 'eard of 'im?"

The chaperone rolled her eyes, "And we come back to 'he couldn't be here'."

Sam answered in her own forlorn voice, "I don't know that. I suspect it ... but I don't know."

"Well, look on the bright side."

Sam's eyes widened, "Yeah, no one's in restraints!" She gave an exaggerated smile as she tugged at her neck.

Skein acted as if she took the sarcasm sincerely, "There you go, no shackles, no muzzles, no leashes."

Sam continued to be facetious, "Just a collar. It's like they treat everyone as if they're human!"

Sara's response was solemn, "Even if they aren't."

It brought the girl's mood down as well, "Firenze is a centaur, Emmerlinse isn't technically human, Hagrid's a half-giant, and that dude," she pointed at a distant figure, clearly smaller than even the students near him, "gotta be a goblin, and house elves hiding all over, merpeeps in the lake. Is it really someone's fault if they weren't born human?"

"Doesn't change the reality."

Sam stepped down and sat on the chair she'd been standing on. Chin in her hands, she sighed, "Maybe they could. Maybe there's some mumbo jumbo cure."

Skein turned sarcastic, "The operation was a success! Pity the patient died."

Sam looked askance at her handler, "Yeah."

Severus

It wasn't a matter of "if", but "when" and "how" James would make a scene. It had been four weeks already, each marked by another attempted attack by his brother. Severus would have at least liked to have Lily as backup today. However, part of keeping Mr Potter's celebrity status all hush-hush was keeping her away from any big social events (professional Quidditch matches apparently didn't count because of their V.I.P. seats). That was too bad for her. It was really rather reassuring to Severus that everyone looked up to his father as much as he did. How come Mum had never been as concerned about how _her_ celebrity affected them? Then again, she was off reporting on a match today (Consolidated Carribean vs the Stormers, from somewhere or other in Canada).

Severus saw his father at the edge of the greenhouses, only a couple of people with him. Though they were afforded quite a bit of space, Severus caught many eyes directed at the small group. As he got closer, his father saw him and waved. When he was very close, Severus recognised his Uncle Ron talking to Professor Longbottom and realised who the black-haired, dark-skinned woman talking to his father was.

"Well, of course you may not be familiar of, no, _with_ Slytherin traditions, Mister Potter, but let me assure you, it is not, _howdoyousay_ , unusual for exceptional members to have a private room." Her accent was Spanish, but the way she stood and gestured was like Aunt Fleur, a way that made other women hold just a little closer to their husbands. Even as Ron bent to hug Severus close, Hermione didn't release Ron's hand.

The woman's presence made Severus suddenly wary of any affectionate displays, "Ron!" He pulled away. If he was old enough to not hold a parent's hand, he didn't have to suffer public hugs either.

Mr Potter beamed at his son's protest, "Speak of the devil!" Dad took Severus in both arms.

The younger Potter gave up. He feebly tried to distract from his embarrassing state (even as he was released from it), "Err, you're Lady Lafayette, right?"

Her already narrow eyes nearly closed as she smiled, "Ha! Don't believe everything you've heard, Albus Potter."

Another student ran up to them. Rose's cheeks were flushed red from the effort, but she had enough breath to correct, "Severus! 'Albus' is a Gryffindor name." She snickered and Severus smiled.

Uncle Ron turned from his conversation with Neville, "What did my brilliant girl say? They make your cousin change his name?"

"Ah Mister Weasley, are you to admit a loss of hearing? Oh, but you are not an Auror now. If only it were you against me in court." Lady Lafayette grinned.

"Oh, Katarina, are you going back to court again already? It seems no matter where I work I end up booking you to somewhere." Hermione teased with a hint of sincerity, "Will you and Kobby be rescheduling your holiday then?"

Rose grabbed her mum, "Mother! You made it!" Hugo wasn't with her, maybe he'd gone with Lily to Charlie's.

Ron complained, "I'm chopped nibbler?" Neville patted Ron's shoulder before leaving for the nearby group hanging about one of the greenhouses.

It was time for all the tours to start (Slytherin families were doing the indoor classes first, Gryffindors the outdoor ones). Dad would get to meet Samantha, Scorpius, and Mr Malfoy soon. Except, as they headed to the castle, Sam was nowhere to be seen.

They joined the rest of the Slytherin first years and their parents inside the entrance hall. Professor Stalvan addressed the gathered adults, "The importance of control cannot be overstated. Slytherin is a house steeped in a tradition of ambitious self-empowerment, but without discipline, such power is more likely to hamper, than to help, the wielder. Miss Lafayette, Mister Peringold, assemble the class."

 _This rubbish?_ Severus thought to himself. It wasn't even a class day, but sure enough they had to line out as if it was.

"Witherspoon is absent, sir." Leilianna announced.

Stalvan seemed to ignore the comment, "Lead our visitors to the Astronomy deck." Perry and Lila's heads turned to each other, but neither started forward. The Slytherin househead smirked, "Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, I believe each of you know the way. Front and center."

Severus snorted a laugh, but Scorpius swallowed nervously. The onlooking parents chuckled as the two of them rushed to the front of the formation.

From behind him, Leilianna ordered in a low tone, "Step off with your left, Potter. Forward ..."

Severus thought, _March_ and did so in time with Scorpius beside him. Several of the adults clapped.

Emmerlinse was nowhere to be seen. No one said whether he'd refused to get out of his coffin, or if he wasn't allowed. Severus thought about the rumors he'd heard concerning the Flight professor. It was rather well-known that some type of Unbreakable Vow had been pressed upon the vampire. The details of said vow, however, were a subject of debate. James, a notorious liar, had said Emmerlinse was restricted from eating students while they were in class or their rooms. Ron, often the jokester, claimed Emmerlinse could only take blood from students in Slytherin (which had yet to happen). Mr Potter, neither liar nor much of a joker, said to not worry about it. And while Severus found it rather easy to trust his father's word in regards to himself, and even his fellow students, what about parents like the Hirschs? They weren't even wizards. An obliviate memory wipe or two and ... Portia'd be an orphan. Then again, that had turned out fine for Severus' father (and Teddy Lupin).

Thinking of fathers, Severus took what chances he could (unnoticed) to check out how Scorpius and Mr Malfoy got along. The elder Malfoy didn't seem very interested in being there. He only spoke in response to Mr Lafayette (something nagged at Severus that Lila's father had a different last name). Mr Malfoy did look at his son now and then, but his expression changed little except for an occasional twitch of his mouth. Hogwarts was probably boring for an adult wizard.

Severus broke from his thoughts on fathers and friends to march to Transfiguration. His mind had been elsewhere, yet he had fallen right back into place (at the rear again) as the tour progressed.

Sam

Over the past weeks Sam had gotten into a routine of sneaking out to the zoo. At first, it was to gloat over Nott fulfilling his side of the bet. Then, she started to actually enjoy the place. There, everything just seemed ... easier, less tense? If Sam couldn't sleep (stuck thinking about what she'd done wrong, or how someone had wronged her), she slipped out to the zoo.

Today was a bit more of an event. She was supposed to go through the castle classrooms with the rest of the Slytherins, but who was she showing around? No one. If not for her bad mood she would have thought to at least meet Lila's, Portia's, and/or Severus' parents. At the moment, though, she was too wrapped up in her own self-pity. She concentrated that into calm resignation, and shifted herself into water that flowed forth from her hand and out the window. She barely heard Skein's screech.

Sam splashed to the ground, gathered, and streamed to the showgrounds. Professor Hagrid and some students attended to several caged and leashed creatures (couldn't be Wamble or Stansfiled again, they had some role in the tours). Even distorted, the display was pretty impressive: a terrestrial cerberus (ie: a _not_ demonic three-headed dog), a hippogryff and several clabberts ( _Foreheads glowing, of course!_ ) were distinct enough. There was more, but Sam did not want to take the time to make out the shapes and have someone notice her unnatural flow. The underground displays were quiet. Sam was careful to not soak her uniform as she resumed her usual form.

No one in sight, collar in place, handler ditched, _check, check AND check._ Never mind what that first Creatures paper said, or what Sam would have admitted, she came to see the spitewyrm because it fed on her anger and left her calm. And, unlike her medicine, it left her in control ( _Chew on that, Doctor Sun_ ). The Ravenclaws should have moved on by now, so who was this lone woman? She was tall, blond hair up in an ornate twist, and wore a better than usual fitting black robe. _Do British magic-users seriously go everywhere dressed like it's Halloween?_ Gretchen stared over the woman's shoulder and gave Sam away.

"I thought the tours were instructed to stay with your guides." The woman paused to examine Sam, "Does one of your siblings attend Hogwarts?"

Sam literally could not work up to being offended. Gretchen's stabilizing influence gave Witherspoon the moment she needed to consider that her uniform was obvious and out of place, "Uh, no, only child. I'm from the States." Sam hadn't expected to get nervous. Why should she? Well, the woman was exquisite, like lead vocals hot. It wasn't that, though. It was "Family Day". This was someone's mother. Even more keenly Sam was aware her own mom would not be welcome here.

Koverchenko's mother was in attendance. Severus' cousin had told him that the Egyptian kid's parents were coming. And Lafayette, via Malfoy, heard that the DuBois girl had family visiting. Even Huang had an embassy envoy there (in addition to her escort). Sam added abruptly, "I can do magic."

The lady smiled thinly, "I meant no offense."

 _Was it that obvious?_ Sam backpedaled, "No, it wasn't - I didn't wanna watch the broomball spectacular. I just wanted to come to the zoo and ..." Skein's suggestions on what to say came to mind, but none of them came out.

The woman turned back to Gretchen, her features softened, "She's quite soothing, isn't she?" She was impossibly pretty. Sam fooled herself into thinking she'd seen this mother on some magazine cover or a movie or ... it eluded her.

"Too bad she's stuck in a cage, right?"

The lady raised an eyebrow, "She has an escape," she (still lady-like) sniffed a laugh, "if she wants, but neither of us are much interested in Quidditch either. Where are your parents?"

Which version? Which lie to tell ... _none of them!_ "Not sure on Dad, and Mom ... I don't think her arrangements would improve if I said she'd planned an appearance." It was like she'd yanked the bandage from a wound. Sam left herself sore, open and vulnerable. Either way, she was relieved.

The woman nodded. After a silent moment, she extended a hand to Sam and drew the girl forward as she knelt before Gretchen's enclosure, "We don't get a choice of parents, and their choices aren't ours. We just hope they love us, and that we can love them in return."

Sam nearly cried. It had been too much to expect anyone to understand, much less a stranger. Sam, as often as she'd been analyzed, had never been so forthcoming before. Her relief and gratitude broadcast beyond her control. The two hugged as Gretchen pressed against the glass to join them.

The lady pulled back, her smile warm and gracious, "How rude of me, introductions should come first." They both giggled at the suggestion of impropriety, "Now, you must be the visiting American."

"Yeah, Sam."

The woman bowed her head curtly in recognition, "And I am Astoria-"

It hit Sam who this was, "Holy Hell! You're Astoria Greengrass!"

The lady raised an eyebrow and turned half back, "I - I am. Did my son tell you-"

"You were on the videos!" She was increasingly excited at the realization and implications.

Astoria was amused. Her reaction was cut short, "Yes, I-"

Sam held her hands out as if to weigh the gravity of her declaration. "You've been on normals' shows researching and debunking their suspicions AND," she thrust her hands to the side to emphasize the difference, "You've been on mage-only shows talking about how close the normals have gotten to figuring stuff out!"

Astoria chuckled, "And how far astray they've gone. But you must have been an infant when I was on 'How Close'."

Sam already had a burgeoning affection for Astoria, but the excitement outweighed any respect she might pay, "Yeah, but, they're all on crystal, I mean, they're school copies, so it's quartz, grainy as all get out, but, wow! I loved when you played off the B.C. giganpi-gigant-O-pithicus tribe."

The woman grinned, "I'm not so certain the Canadian Wizards' tourism board was as pleased, but what do muggles know anyway?"

"Exactly! And you fake debunked the chupacabra-"

Astoria interrupted Sam, "It was a fluke I was interviewed, and the Mexican government needed to keep people away from the vampire clan wars. Coyote-dog hybrids were a decent cover-up, or at least a convenient," she paused, Sam quiet for a moment, "scapegoat."

Sam groaned and laughed, "Scape **goat!** That's _awful!"_ Despite her protest, they were both amused.

The laughter subsided, "So, you're in Slytherin." Astoria said. Sam wasn't sure what to say. The hesitation allowed Astoria a question of sorts, "You know your mother wanted to be here today."

The subject was still so sore even a spitewyrm's hate-drain couldn't suppress Sam's anger fully, "I don't wanna talk about it." She turned away to the smaller cages in a futile attempt to hide her mood.

Gretchen burped. Astoria took note. The woman stood, and said a bit cooler, "How are you- how are your classes coming along?"

Sam obstinately stuck to the negative, "I suck at Charms." She walked further down the hall and leaned into the glass and traced about as the batdrake sniffed and snapped at her.

"A wand might help that."

At first, Sam turned back, ready to challenge as to how Mrs. Greengrass would know that. Then, she thought of Newna, and Emmerlinse, and all the other "ands" that knew more about Sam than she wanted. She nodded and halfheartedly stared at the similarly disappointed drake.

"Would you care to remedy that?"

The tinge of sympathy from Astoria made Sam consider her anew. Even if they hadn't already hugged, the lady was crouched again, her hands loosely cupped on her knees. Sam thought about her mother's lessons on stance, behavior, on human psychology (vice the predator behavior that came natural to them). Astoria was on her level, removing the advantage, the threat of age and size. She had stayed in place, a display of confidence, but she also left the decision to approach or flee to Sam. If she could just read whether the offer was genuine or not.

"Eh-eh." Skein warned with a false clearing of her throat.

Astoria straightened up, and was crisply polite, "That is, if she were permitted."

Sam's guardian opened her mouth, but it was Sam who blurted out, "You'd help me get a wand?"

Mrs. Greengrass did not take her eyes off Skein, "If no one objected."

Sara took advantage of the attention on her and waited. "Won't your own child wonder what's become of you?"

As usual, Miss Skein knew just how to get under anyone's skin. Astoria tensed slightly, "Some time with with his father would do the both of them some good." It was only at that moment that Sam had considered she didn't know a Greengrass (she knew all the first year Slytherins, but not all the other years, and what if her son was in another house?). "We Syltherins should do for each other what we can to conceal, and compensate, for the weaknesses of our brethren."

Her kid must be in another year.

Chapter 34 Customer Relations

Sam

It turned out Mrs. Greengrass had done a "side-along apparate" to Hogwarts (co-teleport by any other name). However, such a thing was not allowed with someone else's kid. Skein didn't like the idea either way (teleporting was a different issue in the States, minors or not). Astoria tapped and twisted a message stone, then suggested they go to Hogsmeade (the town next to the school) and "flew" to London.

"You mean 'fly'?" Sam inquired. _Broomsticks, tally ho!_

Astoria chuckled and smiled, "No, no, the 'floo' network, like a chimney flue. You can move from fireplace to fireplace."

The idea was quite familiar to Sam, but it left out a few essential details, "Sooo, a gate network? I hate those security screenings." Especially how they might reveal Sam for what she really was.

Mrs. Greengrass shook her head, "Well ... yes, it _is_ like your gate network, but there aren't any screenings as in America. They likely monitor the network remotely, but they don't have security at each station. And you have to supply your own powder."

Hogsmeade was a quiet village plucked out of time. It had cobblestone streets and anachronistic storefronts. A few signs and window advertisements were magically animated, but only a single coffee place was open so early on a Saturday. The town center was circular, a fountain in the middle. The largest building on the circle's border was likely the town hall (also closed), with a broad, short staircase surrounding a large, open hearth. The public fireplace burned low (it wasn't particularly cold or dark out). Astoria produced a few tiny paper bags from her unseen pockets, handing one to Sam and Skein each.

Sam cracked, "Spray, say, 'n' pray?."

Astoria chuckled and bit her lip, "That's it, more or less. We're going to Rare Reagents, London." She tossed the contents of her bag in, stepped in, and announced the destination stiffly. "Rare Reagents, London." Astoria swirled away in a green swoosh of flame.

Sam looked to Skein and rolled her eyes. The stout woman shook her head. Sam pocketed the bag, "How much this stuff worth?"

"Two sickles a scoop." Skein answered without hesitation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, _Sickles? And how much is a "scoop"?_ She splayed her fingers as a fan. "Rare Reagents, London." The eldritch fire erupted out and surrounded her. On the other side was a darkened shop. The counters resembled a jewelry store, but within the teired glass shelves were bottles and jars, small herb pots, and animal parts in shallow bowls.

A scruffy man behind the counter was wanding at some cuts on his arms, "Well, I don't know what he wants. Damn owl!"

"Don't concern yourself if it's for him." Miss Skein arrived in a subdued flash. "Ah, good." Astoria considered both woman and child, "No ash on you." She said it like a rote proverb.

"Uh, yeah," Sam figured all good lies had a measure of truth to them, "I'm good with fire," she thumbed over her shoulder, "and she likes being mysterious."

Skein snorted, "It's a simple observation when taking the floo, an insult in all other regards meaning that at the very least you don't fall on your face in fireplaces." She sneered at Sam, "Our escort seems to mean it less mean, and instead plays it more playfully," Skein smiled and bowed her head to Astoria.

Mrs. Greengrass's cheeks were flush, likely from rubbing her face. She murmured, "No offense, of course."

Sam shrugged. She wasn't gong to concede she hadn't caught on to the joke.

Astoria then stated clearly, "And this is the family business. Located at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn alleys."

Sam scoffed, "Is there another one named Vertick? Natcher?" She could make a joke, too.

The guy snorted. Astoria smiled awkwardly. He got it, she did not, "There's Horizont, but I don't believe I've heard of those others. Now, don't try the floo network here outside normal hours, my key let us in today." She patted another (or the same) invisible pocket on her waist. Astoria arched her neck to the side and listened to shuffling footsteps on the floor above them.

Scruffy blurted, "Anyway, I'm on delivery. Luscious has the counter today." A waft of cigarette stench blew out as the man disappeared with a faint pop.

"And thank you, Malcolm. The store doesn't open too soon, but we should be on our way." She produced a chain from her robe and used a heavy, wrought iron key to unlock the stained-glass windowed door.

The cobblestone here (somewhere in London, right?) was darker, both naturally and from the accumulation of age and use. Unlike Hogsmeade, the buildings here were tightly packed and threatened to cut off the weak sunlight. Though it was warmer, Astoria drew her robe tight about her neck. Sam couldn't help but clutch herself, too, both of them staving off a cold that was, yet somehow wasn't. "Come, everything is opening later today, not that Ollivander has ever kept set hours."

From the outside, the shop looked like one of those upscale boutiques that you weren't sure if it actually sold anything, or just displayed stuff to taunt poor people. The modest placard above the door said, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382B.C.

Their entry was announced by the clichè ring of a bell. Sam was not shocked to see that the bell hammered into the doorframe was on one of those classic, coiled-metal strip type chimes. The rest of the frame did concern her, though. Her secret(s) would not be kept here, either. It was too late to do anything about it.

"Welcome, come in, just a moment ... a moment." The creaking voice of an elderly man came from among rows of box-lined shelves behind the counter. The man (presumably Ollivander) emerged shortly. The trembling voice was the youngest thing about him. His hair was gray and thinning, his skin was etched with wrinkles and his bones were all but apparent. He placed a slim, white box on the counter, then held his hands out in welcome, but as they trembled he clutched them together in a poor attempt to maintain the warm gesture, and cover the shaking. "Nine inches, osage orange, heartstring of a silver shimmerer, subtle."

Astoria half-smiled, half-grimaced, "Had my parents not balked at a second investment of seven galleons. They decided pine and centaur hair would serve well enough."

Mr. Ollivander returned a polite, yet pained expression, "I fear there are few, if any, wands left before me. I've had to curtail my repair services in Hogsmeade."

Mrs. Greengrass made a small gasp of amusement, "No, not a repair, and not for me, but a new wand, for this one." She put her hand on Sam's shoulder. "She is young and has no wand at all. If you were to still possess that other though." Astoria's smile tightened slightly.

Ollivander's lips tightened in kind, "It was matched to the young master Lupin."

Astoria nodded, "Our newest Auror-in-training. Well then, attend to the young lady here."

Sam raised her eyebrows and grinned artificially, "Jersian, muscle, bone, and viscera, fifty-two inches, confused."

The man's smile was much more genuine this time, "Then let us determine your true measure." He withdrew a tailor's tape. He came around the counter and circled behind Sam. He drew the tape around her neck. She looked back at him as he held the strip aloft to read it. "Nothing I have will do." He extended it along her sleeve and checked it again. "Hmm." He then tapped on the inside of her arms for her to raise them.

Sam was obvious in her suspicion, "Uh, I got a uniform, thanks, buddy. You **do** know that wands are held, not worn, right?" She started to turn her head, but a withered hand gently discouraged her as the tape ran down her back. Skein's raised brow and warning stare reinforced the suggestion. Then the tape was wrapped about her chest. It was too much for her, "Hey! Watch it pedo-"

Skein growled, "Witherspoon!"

Sam stepped forward, "What? His hands are all shaky and he's worried and torqued up over -" she turned about to confront the aged wizard. Only ... he was several feet away at the counter, reading from an aged tome, older than himself. Sam looked down in confusion as the tape, of its own accord, wrapped about her waist.

Ollivander broke from his reading, "Hmm? Ah, so obvious." It seemed he only needed the book for a reminder. Sam was too occupied with the animate measuring tape though. It ran down her leg, paused, then splayed out across the floor. It bunched up like a worm to get to its owner, then "stood" before him. It wound up as he grasped it. He extended the tape and held it high. Sam caught that instead of the numbers and tick marks she'd just seen, there were words. The wizard read off, "Headstrong, rash, brilliant."

Skein scoffed, "Two out of three."

While Sam scowled at her chaperone, the old man stated wistfully, "'His father's bone and a rooted hair his own.' Though, in this case, we shall need your mother's ... bone that is."

Sam's mouth hung slightly open. Astoria said with concern, "Not the usual fitting process. And why not wood? That's more than unusual, and I'm not quite certain even possible. Her mother is - she might not be in a position to help."

He turned to Skein, "Is that so? I would hesitate to compel the cooperation of one such as yourself."

Astoria looked suspiciously at the other woman, then to Sam. At the girl's desperate expression, Astoria admitted flatly, "We all keep secrets, don't we?"

Sam blurted, "No! It's not like that- I mean, _it is_ , but she's - it's a geas, like, a contract-"

"An Unbreakable Vow." Skein added casually.

Sam continued to plead, "Yeah, she can't even hint who she is. I'm not supposed to say, but I'm too young for the vow thing, and - I have, like, issues, magic ones, and she can - she's the _only_ one who can make me stop, fast. I'm - they didn't want me around, but they didn't want an incident, or maybe just not an obvious one, or that's _my_ theory anyways. I ..." She didn't know what more to say, what more she could say.

Astoria's offense softened, "Then this isn't a choice?"

Skein disagreed, "Every act is a choice."

Silence came over the shop momentarily. The shopkeeper himself spoke up first, "And your cooperation, young miss?"

Sam sputtered in her confusion, "Huhn? What, I - what are you on about, old man?"

Ollivander gestured to his head, "A rooted hair."

She complained, "Seriously?" Then sighed, "All right." Sam winced in anticipation of the pain as she held a few hairs behind her ear. "Ow!" Sam had not pulled.

"Here." Skein was undisturbed as she handed over a single hair.

Ollivander smiled wanly. He held the strand aloft. His grasp shook. "Thank you, madam." He stepped to the counter, opened the box, set aside a wand and placed the hair within. He whispered, "Will place ... as your end." He swallowed and turned back, "Now, madam, if you would allow?"

Sara raised one eyebrow, "This will necessitate privacy."

Sam quickly offered, "We can go," then she looked to Astoria, "I mean, if - I'm sorry. Now that you know, I think I can explain."

Astoria was uncertain. She addressed her concern to Sara, "If I agreed, would I be allowed to escort her?"

"No." Skein answered abruptly.

Mrs. Greengrass barely nodded, "Well, I'll go then."

"Wait!" Sam was desperate. She pulled the small bottle of pills from inside her suit jacket, "I can take my meds."

Her mother wasn't convinced. She teased, "So eager to escape? You don't want to see how a master wandsmith extracts his components?"

Sam shook her head, "You're not the you I love right now." She let the comment sink in, "And I still wouldn't want to see you in pain."

Skein smirked, "Well then," she let her mouth hang open as she tipped her hand to her face, "bottom's up."

The young girl rolled her eyes, "Yeah." She opened the container, shook out a pill and bit hold of it from her hand. Sam tilted her head back and snapped her fingers out to her sides. Water sputtered out of the air and streamed into her mouth. She swallowed, "Pro distill."

"I gotta talk fast," Sam insisted. "The pills stop magical blow-ups, but they also cut out emotional stuff, too, so I gotta say my piece before I go zom-zom." She took a breath, "Where's Wizard Wheezes?"

Astoria was incredulous, "The enormous red building?" She pointed to the distant top of a very red, very prominent structure, "If we're going there, I should deliver some paperwork from the shop."

"Right, it's really cool you have a business." Sam started back to Rare Reagents, "First, thank you for not freaking out, and, I hope, understanding the need for - not lying, but, OK, it was lying."

Astoria laid a hand on Sam's shoulder as they walked, "As I said, we all have our secrets, some more than others."

Sam nodded ,"Yeah, thanks. OK, so, Miss Skein, since that's what I'm suppos'ta call her, is on a magic ankle tracker kinda thing."

The explanation amused Mrs. Greengrass, "I understand what an Unbreakable Vow is."

Sam didn't quite nod nor shake her head, but did a bit of both, "Well, yeah, OK. I'm not so sure though. Anyway, I don't know if your government - Ministry of Magic, yeah?" Astoria nodded and Sam continued, "Well, they probably don't have hate-ons for anyone in particular, but ours does, and me and Mom," she thought _our kind anyway_ , "are near the top of that list. My dad's someone important, but I'm not exactly one of his proudest achievements, so, get rid of me, woot, get rid of both of us, double rainbow woot." The feigned enthusiasm got across both her government's feelings and her opposing reaction. "And, we used to be able to get around, not tote legit, but once we got to see all the landmark stuff through the States, even though we're supposed to keep to one little area."

"As werewolves are limited to the 'Moon-touched' villages." Of course, Astoria had been to America, she would know about those.

It was a little too close to home for Sam's tastes, "Yeah, like the 'moonies in the boonies'." She was just starting to win back Astoria's trust. Sam was not going to go into the precautions she and her mother had to take during full moons. "Then, there was a little 'accident' and I couldn't go to normals' school anymore. This trip was a way for me to get out of Gloom Loon Asylum, but when Mom tried to trick her way along, she got shackled, and, well, here we are. Hey look!" They were at the entrance to Rare Reagents. While "Knocturn Alley" was more of a street, the narrow passage leading behind the shop was truly an alley, dark and unkempt. That was not what caught Sam's attention, however. A stray sunbeam highlighted a patch of green clover. Sam dashed over and crouched to examine the growth. "Give a dream a chance or whatever."

Astoria inquired after the girl's odd behavior, "Is diminished impulse control a side effect of your prescription?"

"At first, if I don't do my exercises," Sam stated distractedly as she scanned, "Jackpot!" She plucked one of the plants. Her eyes narrowed on a black spot atop the prize clover.

"A ladybird?" Mrs. Greengrass observed as she leaned in, now also intrigued by Sam's detour.

Sam tucked her middle finger into her thumb and aimed, "Nah, ladybug. This four-leaf clover is mine, lady."

"Don't-" Astoria tried to warn, but it was too late.

Sam flicked the insect away. She turned to her adult companion, "Huhn, what?"

Astoria sighed and straightened up, "I should have paid more attention to Trelawney. I can't remember if it's instant bad luck followed by four years of good luck if you 'evict' the ladybird, or instant good luck followed by four years of bad luck."

The girl pulled a folded paper from her pocket and carefully tucked the clover into it, "Doesn't matter, it was a bug, not a bird. You mean like 'evict' the bird from the patch?"

Astoria smiled and snorted (a little less lady-like this time), "No, a ladybird or _coccinellid_ is what you would call a ladybug in the States, not that entomology was my favorite subject."

"Thas right, you had to go an learn with tha muddy muggles seeing as what a bad witch ya are. Or is that 'poor witch'. Ain't poor no more, though, are ya?" The man was tall and thick, tattoos here and there, his muscular arms crossed under a bulging chest. He sneered at his cleverness and nodded. "Ministry tried teachin' us grammar and air-uth-mae-ic when we were the'r guests."

A pair of men behind them snickered in approval. Sam only noticed the man before her. He was wrong, sounded stupid and blocked their way. Sam disliked everything about him, "'Uh-rith-muh-tic', dumba-!"

With a steady hand, Astoria cut Sam off and guided her to the side, "Time is vital, I haven't it to spare for the likes of you, Goyle." Her backward glance cued Sam into their being surrounded.

Goyle (was that a first or last name?) didn't pay Astoria any heed. He was more interested in Sam, "Chief Orphan Potter convince ya to take on a' orphan of yer own?" He reached a finger to Sam's chin, but Astoria yanked her away and grasped her close.

Sam looked up to see Astoria's reaction. Her eyes were narrowed; she deliberately switched from Goyle to his accomplices and back. "You wouldn't dare, in broad daylight, they're people-"

"Just us 'round here. The real Mister Malfoy's with an old ... friend. Things gonna get back the way they shoulda been."

The shock on the woman's face was too strong for such a simple comment. Astoria managed to gasp, "No!" Sam didn't know how these two knew each other, but it was obviously not in a good way.

One of the other men lifted a wand from Astoria, Goyle was the one to speak though, "Never really made much use o' that, did ya? Ya sister was always your better, but look how things turned out. I'll check 'er." He patted, squeezed, and stroked about Sam. She'd been shocked at Ollivander's measuring tape, this was a thousand times worse.

What did he look like? What about the others? Brown hair, brown eyes, tall and ugly, but otherwise average of average. Sam couldn't focus, she tried to push his hands off her. It only made him more thorough, and forceful. Goyle shook his head at the absence of a wand, then snorted and jerked his head to an open door along the alley, "Take the old bag, feed yer monster, Markie, me and the young lady'll keep each other comp'ny."

 _What does he mean?_ Sam's mind raced as they were shoved into a dark alcove. Her eyes struggled to adjust. One man was smaller, the other ... more averager? They had Astoria by the arms and pulled her into the room beyond. Goyle held Sam with his left hand. Could she have run before? Not now, he was too strong. He pulled her jacket and shirt tight. His hand was hot where it brushed her neck. _No!_ _This is not happening! No, Mother!_ Sam twisted and howled, "Let go!" From the other room came ripping, a sinister chuckle, a tight gasp. _No, no!_

She couldn't wriggle out of his grasp. He was fast, and far too strong. She couldn't get to Astoria, it was impossible to escape. It was easy for him. He swapped his wand from hand to hand as he kept hold of her despite her struggling. He was so big, Sam was so small. He was an adult, she was just a girl. You only got in trouble if you fought an adult. _This can't happen, no!_ More ripping, high-pitched screaming from the dark room, one of them growled. _NO!_ Sam dug her nails into Goyle's arm. He slammed her against the wall. Even with her eyes closed, sparks seared her vision, static crackled through her head.

Goyle switched his wand to his left and looked at the blood specks on his right, "An' I was gonna be gentle wit' ya." Sam was crumpled against the wall, Goyle crouched in front of her. He still towered over her.

 _With me? With ME?_ _NO!_ "NOOO!" Would her mother hear? Likely too far away. No one else to help. Goyle squeezed her mouth shut, his other gripped her blouse. _This can't be happening!_ No, not something like this. Sam's tears spilled down her cheeks and onto his hand. He pulled it away, _Was that all it took?_ No, he grabbed lower. She could only focus on one thing at a time: the bristled hair of the man's hand at her neck, a tear as it wound its watery way down to her chest, the wand flicked past her ear.

 _The wand._ Orinsworth had said ... _what?_ Something about not wanting bad things to happen, but they were, they were about to get worse. They'd taken Astoria's wand. They'd figured Sam was defenseless without one, as if she'd be able to defend against a grown-up with one. _Defense!_ She couldn't look into the man's face, she fixated on his arm, the snake slithering over teeth. _This isn't real, it can't be, can it?_ He reached down with his free hand.

Then, in answer to herself, _Yes, it is. He's going to rape me ... if I don't fight back._ _He might anyways, but if I don't_ ... His breath was hot on her face, he was so close it felt as if he would burn her. _This is not the time to worry about being human, being good or bad. Now is the time to fight back, it's time to ..._

Samantha gritted her teeth. What did they say you were supposed to yell? It came out a gasp instead, "Fire!"

Goyle hesitated, "Wha-?"

Chapter 35 Sorting Out the Rubbish

Sam

Sam's nose had been stuffed up, and she hadn't been able to make out one noise from the other before. She could only think of the man on top of her in fragments: the hair on the back of his hand, the skull tattoo, his ugly chin and too small nose. The last thing she heard was his piercing cry before it was replaced by a constant low buzz. She no longer breathed, not human respiration anyways. And what she saw had become a video game thermal scope. The man's shape fell back before her, dropping something to the side. As a living fire, Sam didn't so much stand as burn upward.

 _Astoria!_ The thought stoked the angry blaze. They would pay for hurting her, for attacking someone who'd been so good, so kind to Sammy, to a girl she barely knew.

The flame slid past the door. One of the hardest parts of fire-form was figuring out what you saw. The room was too hot, the central form didn't seem human. Sam could not reconcile the chilled points, the movement of the burning, spiked lines. Something draped down, the thing in the middle was snake-like ... with a whipping tail? _The walls are wet- no!_ she knew what was red and warm and liquid in both normal and heat vision: blood! It was splattered and dripped across the walls and floor.

 _Astoria, NO!_ The monster turned on her. The fire flopped and tumbled back and shot out to the alley. The monster, it wasn't some crass joke. Astoria, they had killed - _No!_ The terror and sorrow threatened to crush Sam. Fire sputtered and flailed as it hit the wall outside. She wouldn't be able to keep burning.

 _She's - GO!_ The desperation, she could turn to mud, _Snake head, naga? What can nagas do?_ Could their bile affect mud? The medication was kicking in despite her form. She had to act before she lost focus. Sam used everything she could and exploded away. _Where?_ It didn't matter in that moment, so long as she got away, far away.

Reality came back, at least, a real view of it. Sam was high above London. Returning to her normal form slowed her ascent. She felt the first tugs of gravity, gentle at first, then stronger, faster. "No, no, no, NO!" She was momentarily disctracted, "The Thames is brown?" _Concentrate!_ She felt like she had nothing left, nothing but fear. Frozen with fear - solid as stone. It might not be pretty, but a splat would look worse than a crash ... _What's terminal velocity? Seven hundred-_ Sam cut her distracted thoughts short as the ground rushed up. She turned to rock and everything went blank.

A Well-Meaning Sanitation Supervisor

What a day; Saturday and he had to work. Not that it wasn't part of the job, not that he didn't used to work every Saturday. He was a supervisor now, though, and if anything went wrong he had to make it right. That meant leaving three kids at home. Junior was seventeen, but hardly a model child. Yarrow couldn't be torn away from his video games long enough to be bothered to be help _or_ trouble. Then there was Veronica, brilliant, sweet Vern. Too bad she was only seven, still worth more than both her brothers combined.

He had to put aside thoughts of his children or he'd go crazy with worry. He had to focus on finding one of his "work children" and fix that problem first. It wasn't very hard to find the bin wagon on the pier: there was little traffic here on a weekend. He pulled up and exitted his sedan, "Whatcha got me out here for, Jay?"

The other man was young, lean, and clearly embarrassed. "Well, suh. The crusher's duffed up."

The supervisor walked to the rear and examined the load. Of course it stunk, every load did. Since he'd been promoted though, he'd been getting more and more used to not living with the smells, not every day anyway. "How many of those mattresses in there?"

"Yeah, from the cruise lines I figure." The young man's avoidance of the question drew a sidelong glance from his superior. Jay admitted sheepishly, "Course, ya know that seein' as ya gave me this job special."

"Yeah. What's that, six high? You know how many there were?"

"Uh ..."

 _No, of course you don't,_ the supervisor thought. "Well, prolly got one pokin' up behind the packer, settin' off the sensors. Take it back ta the yard, they'll clear it. Then get back here and finish up." He turned to leave. It seemed silly to point out such an obvious solution, but he'd been warned that was the majority of field calls (he'd been just as dumb himself once).

The subordinate made a series of anxious groans as his boss walked back to the car, "Yeah, sir, I - I was pretty sure that's what I'd have ta- what'd need ta be done, but -" The older man sighed and looked weary as Jay went on, "I really appreciate the chance, and I know I done buggered it up, but reason ya said ya gave me this was 'cause I got kids ta take care of-"

The supervisor held up his hand and looked about as if someone would happen upon them and overhear. This had been covered in the "leaders' workshop". He corrected the misunderstanding, "I gave you this because you said you'd get it done, and because ya got no problem servicin' your day-ta-day route. I said the _money_ sure would help your kids. No one gets special treatment for havin' a fam'ly." He shook his finger in warning and stepped into his work car.

The young driver rushed before the supervisor's window could shut, "And I gotta swap the kids in a hour. If this'd been done on time, I - I know this's mah fault, but ..."

What could the supervisor do but sigh yet again? Everyone knew he had gone through a messy divorce and custody battle (and a make-up and even messier second break-up). "Jay?"

Jay swallowed as he jittered in place, "Sir?"

The supervisor shifted his car (the company's car) back into park. He pulled his mobile from his shirt pocket and keyed it, "Mary!"

A feminine voice came over the speaker, "Yes, sir?"

He ignored her mocking. "I'm gonna take fordy-two ta fleet, then finish the pier job. Jay's got my sedan."

The elder woman sounded as uncomfortable as Dee felt, "You sure 'bout dat?"

What was he going to do? He'd never be late for a custody exchange. He'd never ask anyone else to risk their time with their kids either. "Yeah, Mary."

"Right, Jason Peters, car five. And D-"

He cut the dispatcher off, "And I'm back in a wagon, don't rub it in." He growled as he imagined Mary's smirk at his plight.

The men exchanged keys and Jason drove off (carefully). The supervisor examined the load once more and imagined emptying it without the packer blade to help. And how long the mechanics would take on a weekend, the time to clear the foul, to come back and ... _ugh._ He went around the side, but before he even reached the cabin door, the hopper exploded. Perhaps "exploded" wasn't accurate, but "crashed" didn't make sense either.

He cautiously looked all around for what had happened, no one was anywhere near him, and he was no closer to the warehouses. He looked in the hopper. He thought a moment, that all rubbish was not the same, yet he could scarcely think of a difference between what he saw now and just a moment ago. Except the roof, _it_ certainly was different. It did not previously have a gaping tear in it. He stepped up closer and traced the presumed trajectory to a (perhaps) fresh dent in the pile. The crusher was locked, but he was nervous nonetheless as he climbed in. "This is the big time, right?" he mused aloud. He kicked about for some clue as to what had happened. The mattresses towered in the center of the pile. He slogged about them and saw there was a hole ripped through them. He reached in and felt around. There was something soft, yet firm, warm, and-

He closed his eyes and forced a dry swallow. His first thought was that Jay had more reason than just a custody exchange to ditch. _No, it can't be that!_ The man pushed at several of the mattresses, but they flopped halfway back at him. Legs, small, thin legs. He shoved again, the pile fell away. Hands, a grey skirt and jacket, a girl. He hadn't even seen her head or shoulders and his eyes welled up, "No, no, no, no." She wasn't his little girl, but she was someone's, and now she was - she was ...

 _BREATHING! OH THANK YOU, GOD!_ He scrambled to get the last edge of a mattress off her as his mind raced back to first aid class. Then he froze. Her face, it -

He jumped to look out along the dock. Nobody. He knelt beside her. He was breathing hard and sweating. His fingers traced the gold medallion of his necklace as he thought. He snatched out his mobile, scrolled down, dialed, ringing, voice mail. He tried again, voice mail again.

A strained moan came from the girl. Her head rolled to one side as her body clenched and she dug her fingers into the soiled padding beneath her. She went limp. _Alive, and she can move._ He thought to grab her up and get her out of there, but if anyone saw her ...

Dee jumped out and raced to the cab. With London weather being what it was, everyone kept a foul weather jacket behind their seat. Jay was no exception. The girl hadn't moved. Dee got the coat on her easy enough; he had three children's worth of experience putting clothes on sleeping kids. A torn strip fell from her collar, he tucked it into a pocket on her blazer. She wasn't heavy, but he wasn't as young as he used to be. He set her in the cab and brushed the sweat from his brow. Maybe Jay had some water. He certainly didn't keep any insulin about. Dee didn't want to take the time to test himself (or see the results). He buckled the girl into the passenger seat. What was he going to do? He tried his phone again, straight to voice mail. He clutched at his necklace. Then he pulled out his tester. He told himself, _If you can't think straight, better test yourself before you drive._ Eighty: normal. Well, he'd have to get off the wharf first. He hadn't come up with a plan by the time he pulled into traffic. He popped open a plastic bottle he'd found. The water was warm, it didn't help him think.

"You turned about?" the radio squawked.

He'd forgotten the dash system in the lorries had GPS. Mary would see him _not_ heading to fleet. He picked up the handset and barked, "Traffic's a mess out here!" The street was clear. He was upset, but not at her. What was he going to do?

"Well, well, big man, don't get cross with me, just trying ta help, there's construction ahead of ya."

 _DON'T get cross, get back to the station, she's just tryin' to-_ It hit him: cross, station. _King's Cross Station!_ "Hey, Mary, actually, set me a route ta King's Cross, gonna go chat up a client while I'm out."

"Be quicker if you sailed up Regent's, ha! Careful, been over a year since ya been at tha wheel."

The dashboard map display changed and ... he looked up suddenly. _The camera!_ In his panic he swerved right. An oncoming taxi disapproved with the blare of its horn. Good thing the traffic cam wasn't monitorred remotely.

The girl spoke, "What? Where am- who are? I -" Her voice, not just her accent, was off.

The horns died down as he did a better job of splitting his attention between the road ahead of him and girl beside him.

His erratic maneuver did not go unnoticed, "Ya- ya got some ... thing distractin' ya?"

 _Oh do shut up, Million Millenia Mary!_ What would get the old bat off his case? A little girl fell from heaven above and she looks like- _From heaven above!_ "Aw, c'mon, Mary, I couldn't leave Vern alone with 'er brothers. She's got a future."

"HA!" The speaker crackled at the volume, "She might, but the estate's gonna be ashes for sure by now, want me ta put tha wagon's route for home after ya get it set 'n' cleared?" She held the button as she continued to laugh. The possibility only made him more sour at the dispatcher. Veronica was actually at home with her brothers.

There was a flat whisper, "Can she hear?"

 _Without_ swerving, he managed to glance at the girl, "Nah, gotta key it. Ahem, you're a nattering cow, Mary!" There was no response from the speaker or the girl. That should have been worth at least a giggle. He asked with concern, "You all right?"

She choked out, "I'm - I -" She whimpered, "I'm fffiine." The girl crumpled into her self and clutched her legs.

He stretched over to comfort her. The second his hand graced her shoulder, she slammed backwards into the door and shrieked, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

He barely swerved, grasping the steering wheel tightly, his eyes on the traffic while he nervously tried to reassure her, "Right, that's your side the cab, take as much as you need. I'll keep ta my side." He glanced at the dashboard. There was no way to tell if or when Mary was paying attention, or if she was out on break. There would be little else on the monitors on a Saturday, if she'd seen that ... What could have the girl so scared? Figuring how she looked, and - he cringed. He didn't want to ask, but he had to, "Err, you - there aren't ... any ... dead-enders about, are there?"

The girl scanned the cab. She held out one hand and examined her sharp, black nails. She clenched her hands and thrust them into the jacket. Then, slowly, she reached up and traced her mouth within the shadows of the hood, "You ... saw me? Claws, fangs and ..."

Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, he answered simply, "Yeah."

She countered quickly, "And what? Where're you taking me? What are you gonna -?"

He considered and tried to answer correctly, "Err, well, King's Cross is the only place I can think of where someone, well, a girl like you would go. I figure that'll help more'n, well, I tried callin' someone, but he's ... he's a busy man, not pickin' up," He chanced a look at her, "He wouldn't do that 'less it were somethin' important." That didn't sound right, "Not that I'm that important to help, he's just the responsible sort, you know?" He barely saw her hooded head nod in agreement.

"Help," she echoed as a statement, not a plea.

A woman's electronic voice announced, "King's Cross Station."

The human speaker came right after, "I'm back. Ah, got there all right, ya did. Dun forget the Peters boy's open ticket, _Mister_ Big Dee Dursley." Her chuckle cut off.

Dudley rolled his eyes and took the handset up as he turned in to park, "Right, Mary, I'm on it." He pulled in at a collection bin, stopped and turned off the engine. He wasn't sure if what he was going to say would be offensive or not, but he hoped not, "My cousin ... he said his best teacher ever was a werewolf. And now," he snorted a laugh in disbelief, "Now he says there's a vampire, and a goblin, and a centaur teachin'. Oh, and there's the ghosts and that half-giant feller. Just, seein' you and all-"

She added, "Professor Hagrid." Still something wrong with how she spoke, more than just her being American, "Naga is a large snake with a human head, can be all snake, or near human or human torso and snake body. Snake ... skull ..."

Sure, she was strange, but it was ... Dee couldn't figure it. "Yeah." He decided to ignore the part about the snakes; All the snake business was over, wasn't it? "Hagrid, that's it." Despite the satisfaction figuring out where she belonged, Dudley's worst fear about the wizarding world came back to him, "And the dead-enders? Look like Death himself, I think, never really seen one in ..." He swallowed down the thought of "in the flesh".

She spoke crisply, "Death, dead-enders?" After a moment she corrected, "Dementors. No, but ... Astoria, she's, she was nice, and now she's-" she cut off.

He snatched out his mobile again and dialed: voice mail. He got out of the cab and went around to the girl. Dudley thought about it out loud, "Not like Harry to not answer." He opened the door and she halfheartedly got down on her own. Dee continued, "Just in case, you can do that silver pet thing?" She shook her head. "Harry's got a deer." He vaguely recalled that magic being a grown-up thing, something Harry was exceptional for learning so young. Dudley changed the subject, slightly, "Could be he's workin', but he's usually off weekends, not always, but usual."

"M-E-D: magic electro disruption. He should've given you a norm-active magic device." She explained glummly. "Can I use your cellphone? Mine's dea- I left it at school."

In contrast to her dead-pan defeat, Dudley was encouraged that the girl had an idea. He handed her his mobile. Of course, he'd heard "cellphone" before, but he wasn't certain what "norm-active" meant. "The message stone?" He asked. He took off the necklace and held it forward. Dudley looked about in case anyone heard, then whispered, "But Ron was wrong, a complete idiot _can_ forget how the blasted thing works." He grinned broadly at his own expense.

She shook her head. It seemed she had no luck on her call either. The girl examined the stone. Suddenly, she shoved the trinket and mobile back to their owner and sunk her hands back into the jacket. There was something in her voice, embarrassment maybe, "I'm not good with enchantments, charms, whatever." She paused a moment, "I shouldn't have my hands out."

Dudley hadn't meant to upset her. He just wanted to do the right thing, and that was helping her, as much as a muggle could. He wished he could remember where the hospital was, or those funny named alleys, or any of the things Harry and Ginny talked about. He barely remembered any of it, though. He couldn't even find their house unless they were with him. "C'mon, there's gotta be someone here that'll know how to get you back to Hogwarts." The girl nodded weakly in agreement.

It was a small matter to get into the station. He had a badge (he had badges for places all over London) and the guard bought that the girl was his daughter (especially when she clutched his leg to hide). The ruse of her wanting to see the trains explained their aimless wandering through the platforms. The real reason was Dudley wasn't sure where they were going, "You've been here, right?"

She'd gotten a bit away from him, "Yeah, but you already got us past security."

Dudley fought to recall what he knew: the entrance was hidden, something about a number (all the platforms had numbers). There was no reason to keep those hints secret, "It's hidden, something 'bout a platform, can't recall the number."

"The pamphlet, it said nine-something." She stated matter-of-fact.

It sounded familiar, but when they got near the end of platform nine, it didn't feel right. Dudley paced to the platform's edge, "Nah, it's - it's gotta be somewhere else. C'mon, we'll-"

She interrupted, "Does it feel weird? Like you should be somewhere else?"

That was exactly how it felt. She'd stopped. He went back to bring her with him. This wasn't where they should be. No one else lingered here.

The girl flinched away as he reached for her. This was the wrong place, but she was stubborn, "No. This is it. You don't even want to look here. No one does, they want to move along and not even see it." She ran her hand over a support column, then the wall.

It wasn't going to help, they should be trying to find someone to help. Or just leave, this had been a terrible idea. Dudley turned to go. He stopped as a small hand grasped his. It came to him, "Nine and three quarters, you gotta run at the wall," he turned and pointed, "James ran right through it. Ginny had to hold our hands to get me and Vern through. It extends tha magic or somethin'." Despite the outburst, a security guard passed them with only a disapproving scowl.

She led Dudley over to the wall in question and traced it, "Kinetic reactive barrier. Advanced stuff." She backed up, "We gotta move or even an aversion enchant this good won't distract security forever." She tugged on Dudley's hand. He grasped hers firmly and they both leaned into a headlong dash.

Dudley wasn't sure if she closed her eyes, he knew he had. And on opening them he was both encouraged and disappointed. He remembered this, it was different from the rest of the station, clean and old-fashioned, but there was no one here. There was no train with black-trimmed, red cars, no train at all. He looked about. There wasn't a door right behind them, but the not-at-all-muggle station house to the side had several doors (No Departure!) and fireplaces (Departures Only). That made him think of the man who had burst forth from the fireplace in his parents' living room all those years ago. "You can use tha fireplace ta get somewhere, right?"

She nodded solemnly, "Yeah." She turned back to him, "Thank you."

Despite her odd appearance, he couldn't help but think she had her own parents somewhere, worried sick what might have become of her. She reached out, and he knelt down. After a brief hug, she tossed a bag of dust, then entered the now green fire. It flared up as she said, "Ministry of Magic."

Dudley couldn't wait to tell Harry about his short adventure into the Wizarding World. "Oh my." Someone must have followed them through the wall. The man wore a strange hat, and his suit looked like it was made of something rich, like velvet. "Oh dear me."

"I'm not sure yer supposed ta be here, sir."

"Oh no, Mister Dursley, neither of us are, but you need not trouble yourself of such matters. _Imperius!_ Now, do tell me, how much did you learn about our visitor, and what led you two here, young man?"

A Wayward Witch

She needed money. Not this. He wasn't alone yet. It had been a ... while. If she hadn't sold her watch, she might have known how long. If she could just get the money. If he was alone, she could. She needed the money.

Her lover wouldn't help her, not anymore. He offered to take the child, _their_ child, as if it was too much for her. Property to maintain, a commodity to trade, that's how he treated their child. Maybe ... if she had money, he'd see she didn't _need_ him, and _then_ he would come back. Not just to taunt and tease her, but to stay with her, with their child, too. He said things might change soon, go back to the way they should be. Did he mean them, together? He didn't want her if she needed him. She needed to get the money on her own.

Finally, he left. She waited ... long enough? She rushed inside, held her wand at the ready. She didn't intend to hurt anyone, but he wouldn't know that, he was just an old man.

Old? No, dead, dead is what he was. Blood glistened on the floor. It didn't matter, she needed the money. The last time she'd gotten any money, he had gloated! Not this old man, not her lover, the other one. He'd held it over her, told her she was lucky. Lucky that he'd just gotten the money himself, from here, from the old man. She wouldn't have gone to him, but she needed the money, and she knew where he would be that day, and she couldn't look needy to her lover. It had been a month ... or more? She needed more, and he refused to see her. It was not the first time she'd been cast aside, everyone had cast her aside.

Her head hurt, her hands shook. There was no register. The box was empty. It had the metal stink of coins, but it was empty. Was the money on him? The blood, she didn't want to touch him, but she needed the money.

Nothing on him. Was this some kind of game? She needed the money, but he had already taken it, killed the man and left her with nothing! A thousand, hundred wands, seven galleons each, all of them worthless to her. She needed money.

As she left, something flit across her hand. A black ladybird? She was about to sweep it off when a thought cut through, from Hogwarts, some lesson? She'd learned her lesson there, so long ago. When he'd first rejected her: she learned money meant power, and she was powerless on her own. Even in her revenge she had needed help. Not on him, no, he still might have changed his mind back then. Not now, of course. She had thought she'd gotten away with it. But now, the little brat, she had everything ... and this, they might think she killed the old man. The ladybird took flight of its own whim. Her lover had warned her of all their tricks: _priori incantum_ , apparate tracking, even some business about the traces of fingertips. She went back, wiping everything with the cuffs of her frayed sleeves. She locked the door. She couldn't waste more time. She still needed the money.


	8. Chapter 36-40

Chapter 36 Enforcing Suspicions

Severus

The tour seemed just as silly now as when Severus heard about it the first time (James had his years ago). Portia's parents were new to it all, of course. Even Leilianna's dad knew _some_ about magic. And there were several other parents that had married into magic, too, so maybe the tours made sense for them. It still seemed silly for wizard families like the Potters and Malfoys, though. That was probably why Mrs Malfoy hadn't bothered. Severus' mum was really pleased about him making the Quidditch team, but she couldn't cover the Carribean/Canada match _and_ be at Hogwarts.

Scorpius' father managed to make the most of his time there, at least:

"With Binns gone they might actually stay awake in History"

"Does operating a muggle appliance justify a Hogwarts salary these days?"

"If you gave Hufflepuffs crisps instead of points they may outsmart Ravenclaw." "Remind the Gryffindors they can't whinge their way out of a curse".

Draco was mostly talking to Kobina (Leilianna's dad), and he wasn't loud enough for _everyone_ to hear him. Still, Severus was surprised Scorpius wasn't amused.

They were in the entrance hall, on their way to Alchemy, when Severus' dad got a call on his pocket mirror. He cut off the miniature dragon roar and waved it on. After a moment he responded, "On my way." The privacy feature kept Severus (anybody) from knowing what his father had been told. It quickly became obvious the call was important, though. His father had his wand out and cast, _"Accio cycle!"_

The front doors opened, pushed by Caretaker Creevey. He entered and stood aside as the motorcycle roared to a stop behind him. "Careful, Harry, these doors would be difficult to replace."

Mr Potter commanded, "Dennis, you're with him 'til I say otherwise." He pointed at Mr Malfoy.

Mr Creevey refused grimmly, "Harry, I don't answer to-"

Severus' father mounted the motorcycle. He barked back at the groundskeeper, "You do right now, Dennis, I don't have the time."

"Guilty until proven otherwise, Potter?" Draco Malfoy asked snidely.

Mr Potter repeated, "Not the time." He strapped on his helm and lowered the goggles. He added, "Sorry, Draco." The motor revved as Dad spun the bike around and launched into the air. No one said anything as they watched the Chief Auror ascend, then disappear as he passed over the school wall.

Mr Malfoy did not disappoint, "Georgia, I can see keeping out the riff-raff sorted to other houses," he eyed Mr Creevey, "but surely we can arrange for the undeclared parents to see the Slytherin quarters ... _now."_

Between his father's epic exit and Draco's wit, this tour ranked right up there with the Baron's rant.

Sam

 _Go on, monster, no one wants you around. All you do is bring misery and doom. Go on._ Sam stood on the stones of the Ministry fireplace. The room was strange: all fireplaces and hallways. In the center was the statue of a man and centaur shaking hands, a goblin and house elf with their arms around each others' shoulders watching on. "Liberty Through Cooperation," smiles and platitudes. Sam wanted to vomit.

"Perhaps if you spent less time repeating what I've told you and actually _do_ something I would, as you keep saying, **calm myself!** "

Two women stood at a booth, old-fashioned elevator gates to each side of it. The shouting lady's blond hair hung down. She was another of those black on black British robed witches. The other woman was ...

 _MOM!_ As Sara Skein, Sammy's mother by any other name (and she'd used many names). She carefully watched her daughter with the corner of her eye. If not for the emotion draining side effect of the medication, Sam would have cried out and sprinted ... into her mother's arms? No, her mom would never give up a disguise. It gave Sam a moment to think, if Mom isn't the one talking to the government stooge, then it must be -

Sam did not catch the moment as Sara nudged the woman's arm beside her, nor the people with wands drawn edging out the various passages. She managed to run and yelp, "Astoria!"

The relief in Astoria's eyes matched what Sam felt. She knelt and caught the near tackle from the young girl. "You're all right!" Mrs. Greengrass called back.

Sam pulled back, tears glistened down her shadowed cheeks, "You're alive." Her voice still couldn't convey how deeply relieved she was. Sam glanced up and grasped her mother's skirt, digging in as hard as she'd rather embrace, and **be** **embraced** , by her.

"Everyone's safe now, together," Astoria seemed to fight between letting go and keeping her composure.

Skein scanned the room instead of reacting to her daughter's safe return, "Samantha was instructed to come here if there were any danger, but I venture no one in all of Great Britain anticipated how safe it would be with so many Aurors about."

Sam barely pulled back from Astoria (and did not let go of what little purchase she had on her mother) to see what Sara meant: Seven men, three women, wands at the ready. They were cautious, wary of two women and a little girl. No question as to which of them they were most concerned about. Of course they would know Sara and Sam's secrets. She was distracted from the gathering as her hand was pulled free. Astoria drew Sam's hand into her own as she remained fixed on those gathered about them.

The first of the strangers to speak was a tall man with wavy black hair, "Missus Malfoy, your husband and son will be relieved to know you're well."

 _Malfoy? But, who? No! Astoria is Scorpius Frownboy's mother!_ At once, Sam was disappointed and impressed. Astoria had, by omission, lied to her. She'd even hinted to Sam that she had been lying. Then again, every waking moment Sam lied to everyone around her as to who and what she really was. Except right now, her face, her fangs, her hands would give her away. Her hands ... held in Astoria's.

Mrs. Malfoy had other matters on her mind, "Why would they be relieved, Mister Potter? As far as they know I am on errand in London." She sounded offended, no, more than that. "Perhaps your efforts, and your people, would have been better spent finding this young lady, or barring that, the surviving suspect of the attack on us."

 _Surviving?_ At that thought, at the memory of the blood-soaked room, Sam wanted to scream. Yet, despite Astoria's scorn towards the Aurors, she continued to caress her thumbs across the back of Sam's hands. Astoria Malfoy (!) had dispatched TWO of their attackers, without a wand? Then maybe **she** was the naga. Sam had thought it was one of the men that was a naga. Still, this woman's attention elsewhere, she continued to reassure a little girl she'd only known a day. How had Scorpius turned out such a tightly spun dork? Sam concluded that Mister Malfoy must be a magnitude ten jerk, and that Astoria had married him out of pity.

The clerk in the booth was clearly rattled yet chose to speak up, "Err, yes, Mister Potter, we, rather, Chief Auror, _your_ people, have, err, found," swallowed what discomfort he could, "the remains of Marcus Dolohov and Avery, tha young one, where Missus Malfoy said she'd, err, left - _them."_

Sara added slyly, "And _right_ where Mister Goyle's arm would be."

Sam was once again glad for her limited (medicated) range of reaction. She was the one responsible for that injury. The initial embarrassment then mixed with her relief at surviving and verged towards amusement. She told Astoria as sincerly as she could, "Guess I'm not the only one with blood on my hands."

Sara eyed her daughter momentarily then smoothed her own skirt with a practiced tug at the side, "Perhaps everyone would be more comfortable if we moved somewhere more private, while your men and women went about their duties, Chief Auror Potter?"

Mister Potter ( _What a way to meet Sev's dad!_ ) apologized, "Good of you to suggest." Then he chided the other Aurors, "This was an overreaction. Mister Mateo, take everyone else, oganise the search for Gregory Goyle. One pair to the Averys, another to check on Lucius, see if Ar-Ar is missing anything to replace an arm. Check Mungo's stock, make sure to talk to Bulstrode. Don't underestimate Goyle, he might think it's clever to hide near Hogwarts and The Boar's Head has a reputation for not asking questions."

The other, tanner, tall, black-haired man nodded and tugged the sleeve of the youngest Auror on the way out. The Chief Auror corrected, "No, I'll keep Teddy, he needs practice with interviewing witnesses," Mr. Potter turned his attention to Mrs. Malfoy and Sam, "and victims."

The interview wasn't as awful as Sam had seen in her shows. Teddy tried his best to not read from his written form. Mr. Potter chimed in now and then. He picked up on some odd points (Did they know the attackers? Did Goyle or his associates say how they'd accessed the abandonned warehouse?) Sam's memories were scattered, she could recall things, but not in order, and not all at once. Potter was quick to reassure her that hers and Astoria's actions were not in question by him, he just needed as much information as possible for the head of the Law department.

Throughout the process, Sam was allowed to keep her jacket hood up ( _Dudley's jacket_ ) which she used to conceal her true self, especially her hands. At the interview's end, Mr. Potter conferred with Auror Lupin. Skein (Mom) took the opportunity to pass the choker disguise charm to Sam. She'd either taken and repaired it without anyone else's notice, or had a spare.

Mr. Potter took the transcript and left. Teddy Lupin, newer to the process, made a more formal exit, "Thank you for your time, ladies." He nodded politely.

An issue that had nagged at Sam came out, "Are you an orphan?"

Sara might have shifted in her seat, but that didn't distract Mr. Lupin, "Yeah, guess Al- err, Severus told you."

"No." Sam was deep into her medicated state. It had helped her say even the most awful things during her questioning, but now she just sounded rude, "Your name's Lupin."

He wasn't the least bit offended, though slightly confused, "How's that?"

"It's an old British/former colony tradition to name orphan werewolves 'Lupin'."

He snorted and grinned, "I'm not a werewolf."

Sam felt stupid for bringing it up.

"But my father was. Never heard tell he was an orphan, too, though."

"Sorry, just something from my shapeshifters class."

He smiled, "An entire class about shapeshifters? What else that cover?"

She was glad that he wasn't upset, he was practically amused, and much more mainstream attractive than Koverchenko. _Cut it out!_

Sam tried to put some enthusiasm in her voice, "All the weres, doppelgangers, demons, changelings, or cambions here, shifters or animags, and aswang, kitsune, lamia, naga, selkies -" The thought of nagas still held in her mind. Was Astoria one? What did that mean about Scorpius?

There wasn't much more to the list, and Sam's line of thinking wasn't productive otherwise. She was glad when Teddy interrupted, "And what do you call someone who can do this?" He combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it red to one side of the part, gold on the other.

 _Wow_ , that was so casual and cute. Sam had seen that somewhere before. "Cosmo, for cosmetic shifter."

He playfully grimaced, "Think I'll stick to meta-magus."

Sam barely managed a grin, "Would've been cool if you were a werewolf."

Lupin was more serious, though still intrigued, "How's that?"

She dropped her chin to stare at the table, "Werewolves, they're the bad guys in all the fairy tales, cast out crazies in real life. Would've liked to see a big bad wolf as the sheriff. A deputy-in-training would do."

"Well, I've got it on good sources that my father was on the side of angels." Sam looked him in the eye and they shared a smile.

Skein cracked cruel, "The Fallen were angels ... before they fell." A school year was too long for Sam to put up with "Miss Skein", all the while knowing her mother was just behind the mask.

Mr. Potter's boss decided against a hearing for Astoria. She was declared to have "ties to the community and limited magical expression," and was released on "the bond of her word as a witch". All of it code for "a family" and "a crappy wand". That her actions were justified did not seem to be as much of an issue.

Sam had her collar, and its accompanying glamour, back on, but would not ditch the foul-smelling jacket. It'd been put on her with care, a shield against the age-old prejudices of the world. She felt guilty about yelling at Mr. Dursley that once.

Skein opened her mouth, and Sam dreaded what awful thing her mother would say to ruin the moment, "You should write him a thank-you, girl. He was concerned for you, even in your natural state. Kinder than most, extraordinary for a muggle." Sam nodded and stretched her arms to pull the jacket tight across her back. She would have preferred a real hug.

The three "floo" back to Hogsmeade. The previously vacant streets were clogged with students. Sam tried to pick out Leilianna, Perry, Portia, or Severus, anyone she knew, even Scorpius (on Astoria's behalf), but she soon recognized that none of the kids were "first years".

Just out of town, on the way back to the castle, Mrs. Malfoy stopped by a dilapidated house. She knelt in front of Sam. Astoria opened the coat and pulled back its hood. "It's a bit sad when we must present a face not our own for the sake of others."

Sam bit her lips. She couldn't look Astoria in the eye and ask what she had to, "What, in the - that room - what happened?"

"We'll talk about that later," Astoria caressed Sam's cheek and gently raised the girl's gaze to her own. "A better place and time to share our secrets." Astoria's eyes were glossy black with yellow slits, behind her broad smile were two sharp, ebon ridges. She blinked and her eyes were once again warm and brown; a lick of the lips and white teeth, separate and normal, returned.

 _Holy Hell!_ Sam's eyes bulged ever-so-slightly in subdued shock. Even deep within her zombie state, she was impressed. Because Astoria was something more than she appeared? Because she decided to trust Sam with that secret? Or because she'd been so understanding, so concerned for a little girl not her own? _All of that, YES!_

Mrs. Malfoy was so like Sam's own mother, yet so drastically different. If not for the similarities, Sam might not have been so quickly fond of the woman. If not for the differences, Sam would have felt she was betraying her real mom. A mom who was so close in body, yet so very far away in spirit.

The grounds were vacant of the traffic that had dominated Hogsmeade. Just this morning, the area around the school had been packed with students and families. The only gathering of people left was Mr. Creevey, Chief Auror Potter, and two other men in black robes, one a red-head, the other a blond.

The blond one was going off, "No need to be concerned? And what in Merlin's name does that mean? You still haven't answered how my wife going to Diagon Alley should be an issue. What have your people done that I should be concerned?" So this guy was clearly Mr. Malfoy And yeah, as Sam had guessed, he was a triple A-USDA ( _UK-DA?_ ) dork. "You want to reassure me? Don't send your joke-store reject to do an owl's job."

"Hey!" The red-head stepped forth menacingly at the insult. It seemed he'd expected the other man to flinch. He was sorely disappointed, Malfoy was amused vice startled; Creevey shook his head at the misplaced attempt.

Mr. Potter stared at Malfoy gravely, "Thank you, Dennis. Come on, Ron." It was a little difficult to imagine this was Severus' father (from looking at Ron, he had to be one of the many Weasley uncles). The Potter father and son looked kinda similar except for the hair (Sev's was straight), but Mr. Potter was mature, composed. Even in the Ministry lobby, with him knowing what Sam and Sara were (and likely Astoria, too), he'd kept his cool.

Mr. Weasley hadn't made much of a first impression, but who knew which of the many Weasley kids were his? And Mr. Malfoy was a worse example of the danger of kids taking after the wrong parent. He'd barely paid note of his wife's presence. He didn't appear to know about her having just been attacked, that she had to defend herself, but what about asking her about her arrival with a girl and woman he'd never even seen before? Except, that didn't seem to matter, "You should find Scorpius, I have my appointment to attend to." He turned to the looming groundskeeper, "Can you assist in that? Or do lapdogs only respond to barking?" Creevey shook his head again and entered the castle, pulling the door closed behind him.

Sam couldn't believe it, _What - a - jerk! Say hello to your wife! Ask who the hell these people with her are! Find out what happened! HOW can that NOT be the FIRST thing on your mind?_ It did not make sense how he could just dismiss such glaring unknowns. Not that he knew how much he should have been concerned about ...

Astoria? Whatever she was, she had taken out two men in a couple minutes (Sam had just gone through the timeline thoroughly with Teddy Lupin). The puzzle worked out backwards. Mr. Malfoy wasn't concerned. Everyone at the Ministry had been tense about Sara Skein and an angry Astoria, but (supposedly) not everyone knew who Skein (or what Sam) really was. Astoria repeatedly acknowledged her acceptance that people kept secrets. She'd shown no hesitation, no fear, in leaving Hogwarts with two strangers. Astoria knew a lot about magiozoology. She'd been visiting with Gretchen, the resident spitewyrm. Secrets were tough to keep between spouses. Great Britain (along with much of the old Commonwealth) required registry of animagi, a registry everyone in law enforcement would have access to.

The images flashed in Sam's mind: Astoria at Gretchen's display, Astoria with glossy black eyes and teeth, the blurry grayscale memory of the monster, Gretchen rearing back, her wings flared at the rush of students, the monster doing the same in front of Sam, its thin wings barely perceptible against the heat of blood on the walls. Part of what Sam hadn't been able to take in then, made sense now. The medicine betrayed Sam's thoughts, "But, a shifter, an animagus shouldn't be able to turn into dragonkin."

Mr. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Sam briefly, then examined his wife. Astoria held a finger to her lips and whispered, "Shhh, I didn't learn that lesson when I was a student here, and I don't plan on learning it now." She barely smiled, but her eyes twinkled mischievously. She told her husband in a warm hush, "Now be a dear and tell our son I'll wait for him in the aquarium. My earlier plans were - delayed." The Malfoys exchanged a formal hug and dry kiss before going their separate ways. Of course he hadn't been worried, he was married to a woman who could turn into a spitewyrm.

Chapter 37 Sending Messages

A Pair of Clerks

"Right, so, tap it. No! With your wand." He tried to be patient, but there were procedures to follow.

The swirling sparks of magic started to coalesce. It always reminded him of one of those tourist snowglobes. The new join was a pureblood, though, so he didn't bother mentioning the similarity.

"It looks like Wandmaster Ollivander." she stated uncertainly.

She was right, or at least half right. "And a cloaked figure. Unknown," he wrote as he spoke.

"But what-?"

He cut her off, "We don't know. We record a description of the image, date observed - you won't know when it was made or the exact moment it arrived."

"What, how did -?"

He shook his head, "Everyone asks the same things: What does it say? Why don't we know when it was made? What's the point? How do we know if it's a curse or a prophecy? We don't. Tracking charms foul up reception. And we won't know, even when something happens. Prophecy, curse, what _is_ the difference? We get paid either way."

"Motivation: one is a warning, the other's a threat."

 _Ravenclaws._ Had she been from another house, he might have been impressed, "Sure, makes no difference to us, though, only a concern to the _real_ Unspeakables, the field operatives and the director. We're just clerks, regardless of what others in the Ministry might think."

She wasn't satisfied, "But ... we're in the best position to be promoted, to become one of the lettered field operatives."

He snorted, that sounded more like a Slytherin. "Leave the placard on the stand, apply a paralysis hex, cover with the belljar. Next, file it for pick up, with a note: Ollivander, Garrick. Whoever's on duty will take it from there." He checked, "C today."

"What's the point?"

He filled in the blanks on the clipboard before answering her question, "I do it for the pay, and the conversation."

"But you said after training was done I'd be working alone."

He'd also once been young, eager, and seemingly bright. Not anymore, "Exactly."

Scorpius

The zoo, and especially the aquarium, was much more interesting to Scorpius with his mother there. Professor Hagrid might have had a basic understanding of the creatures, but Mrs Malfoy knew _everything_. The most intriguing (or horrifying) part was that hour-glass spiders were named for the grains of sand harvested from their abdomens. They had the perfect properties to charm and use in pocket-hourglasses (and they were part of a bizarre Biddle-like tale about fate).

Before she left, Astoria promised to research any naturally (including _magically_ natural) occurring metal eggs. Scorpius did not venture a question as to where his mother had been throughout the day, and she gave no reason for him to suspect anything untoward had happened. The mystery behind the business between his father and the Chief Auror would have to wait.

The new _Daily Prophet_ had odd news (Scorpius' subscription had resumed after that first awful week). The Ministry allowed the newspaper to observe the Death Eaters on a guarded walk around the parapets of Azkaban. The feature picture was of Fenrir Greyback. The unchanged werewolf attempted to charge for the ocean, but only managed to loose his hood as the guards wrestled him back inline with his fellow criminals. Scorpius wondered why the Ministry even bothered. Why risk fresh air and sunshine on such loathsome villains, even if they were hooded and bound? The article was still more interesting than the one about the Ministry raising the registration fees on brooms and carpets.

The letter from his mother was of much more interest. Inside was a list of creatures that laid metallic and metallic looking eggs. Most were dragons, and most of those were rich with iron or copper (and not a spitewyrm's despite Severus' pestering on the subject). None of them were platinum, nor were any entirely metal. He wasn't sure if it was more or less likely Mrs Malfoy would have heard of a creature that could be over a thousand years old. Or could the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw have lied? That _was_ unlikely, besides, the ghost was nowhere to be found to confirm or confront.

If only his mother's message and the list were all she had sent. He pursed his lips at the name upon the envelope within the envelope and considered the gulf between what he should do and what he wanted to do.

Scorpius did not believe in luck. If he were lucky, Mother would not have sent him a letter meant for someone else. Though, perhaps luck was with him when the door opened.

"Oh hey, Scorpius." Lila had on worn, but clean sweats. She pressed a towel to her hair. Scorpius had worked himself up for a confrontation. He thought himself silly to forget who else shared the room ( _belonged_ in the room). "What's that?" Lila reached for the envelope in his hands. He yanked it back reflexively. Leilianna was curious, "That's Astoria's handwriting ..." then she brightened up, "Is it about Miss Austen? I loved 'Emma', but I am lost on the new one. The only thing I can make from it is that Mister Darcy seems _very_ familiar." She smiled as she started to tie her hair up into a bun. At least the two of them could put their previous conflict behind them.

Scorpius had forgotten about his mother's attempts to broaden Leilianna's homeschooling experience. He hadn't read the book himself, "You think he's like me?"

Lila rolled her eyes, "No, well, perhaps lately, but he's awkward, and brilliant, and well meaning to some, but so rude to everyone else, I was thinking of a _different_ Malfoy." She grinned and hiccoughed a laugh, "Is it true you were holding hands with a Ravenclaw girl?"

He responded haltingly, "Fontaine ... yes, and she kissed me."

Leilianna's eyes went wide and she barraged him with excited questions, "I saw that. Have you kissed her back? What was it like? Are you in love? Does she love you? How do you feel about her? _She's_ not a Slytherin." Or perhaps that conflict wasn't entirely forgotten. He didn't respond. Lila mellowed slightly in her concern, "What is it?"

He admitted, "It's for Samantha." and he offered up the letter.

Her expression soured upon seeing the torn envelope, "Then why did you open it?"

The challenge snapped Scorpius out of his thoughts, "It would have been acceptable for me to open if it was for your?"

Lila scoffed, "I've put you in a dress before, I'll do it again." Scorpius scrunched up his face at the playful threat. Leilianna snatched the letter from his hands and scanned it.

The hypocrisy annoyed Scorpius, "And how is it you're allowed to read it?"

"You already did," she replied distractedly. Lila smiled and commented as she finished, "Your mum's a sweetheart." She looked past Scorpius, tilted her head, and said dreamily, "I imagine your mother for Miss Bennett, not just because I see your father as Darcy," she laughed again, "more because of their stories of when they were at university."

"Father only went the one year."

Scorpius' correction exasperated Lila, "For classes, he still went back for _her!_ "

He backtracked, but did not surrender, "She was seeing other people then."

Lafayette clutched the letter as she made fists and growled to the ceiling, "Grrr! You should read the book, too!" They stared at each other a moment. Lila smoothed the letter and returned it to its envelope. She stated evenly, "I'll tell Sam you gave it to me and I opened it before you could stop me."

Scorpius agreed meekly, "Thank you."

Sam

[slightly feminine print]

Dear Samantha,

I am writing you to apologise for our strange day and its abrupt end (though perhaps that was for the best). We never did get to the Wheezes shop. And while I did confirm the ladybird (bug) and clover omen, I don't believe I have to tell you which outcome it portends.

I hope you agree our luck started before that, though. To me, it was wonderful to meet a young lady more interested in creatures than Quidditch players. I admit to steering Georgia Stansfield away from the pitch and towards the zoo, even if these days she is more interested in the flash and fame of becoming an Auror.

A little Drake told me you are roomed up with Leilianna Lafayette. I should not speak on her behalf, but I think I can safely say each of us has a differing take on our mothers' histories (and nothing against Lila and her love of Quidditch, she appreciates the play of the game over the spectacle of personalities!)

Speaking of mothers, you should write yours, let her know your experience on our expedition (the post owls are in their own tower, not the aviary).

Sincerely,

[print style signature] Astoria Malfoy

PS I know Scorpius will find you easily enough (he and Leilianna are "old" friends) and while I know I must have heard it at some point on Saturday, your last name escapes me.

[story]

Sam knocked sharply three times.

Skein opened the door, dowdy suit and unamused expression as always, "What?"

"Lila's gonna show me where the owl tower is. We're towin' the Porsh, too."

The chaperone countered, "Perhaps if you put that in the form of a request."

Sam sighed dramatically. Then, in what was supposed to be a haughty British accent, "May I please, at your le-jure, attend to the tower-y of owlery with Lady Leilianna Lafayette and the Princess Portia of Hirschingdom." She bowed and flourished forth her hand as she splayed out the three envelopes. Portia laughed; Lila giggled nervously.

Skein grimaced and snatched the letters. She read them off with a mix of boredom and mockery, "A. Malfoy, D. Dursely, and," she raised her eyes on the still bowed girl, "Your mother, how quaint. I'm sure hand-written correspondence will be a unique surprise to her. She might even find someone to read it to her."

Witherspoon stood straight with a broad smile across her face, "Perhaps if you put that in the form of a permission."

"It will be easier to see on Friday, it's a full moon then. The owls will be none-too-accomdating if you set fire to their nesting material."

Sam's eyes narrowed, "My royal escort will employ nonflammable forms of magic. Magic, you've heard of it?"

Leilianna tugged at Sam's sleeve, " **Nice** ly!"

Reluctantly (and halfheartedly) Sam gave in, "Pbbbt, Astoria and Dudley deserve the 'thank-you's. The one to my mom is personal. Please, may I send these off, ma'am?"

Sara didn't budge, "Anything sent to your mother through official channels will be anything but personal."

Sam scowled and reached for the third envelope, "Then -" Skein allowed her to take it, "I'll get it to her some other way."

Skein handed over the other two letters, "Go on then. I'll allow you at least the illusion of privacy."

The three girls dashed to the hall. Portia was curious, "What did she mean about illusions? Is it like with Stansfiled, or is she going to read your letters somehow?"

Sam, still in the lead, shook her head, "No to both. She's following us. She's just not going to be obvious about it."

Predictably, Portia looked behind them, but saw nothing except some teens on their way to Defense. Leilianna did not bother, and asked what was on her mind instead, "What about the one to your mother?"

Before Sam could answer, Portia added, "They said the owl Mum bought me is registered. Is that what Miss Skein meant about 'official channels'."

Sam turned and stopped, sideways up the stairs, "Are there _un-_ registered owls? I had something else in mind, but ..."

Lila sighed and ushered them to continue. Her answer was terse, "My mother has several ... but they're illegal. Regardless, I doubt any of them just happen to be perched at Hogwarts."

Portia suggested, "What if she sent you something, or you wanted to send her something, that might get one of you in trouble?"

They'd reached the top of the spiral stair. Lila took the opportunity to confront Portia, "I'd never! I'd never accept anything like that from her either!"

Lafayette was truly upset, Hirsch taken aback, and Witherspoon didn't want to see her new roommates fighting. "Wait, if you don't like the kind of stuff your mother does, why were you cool with me standing up for 'criminals' with Slip-Nott?"

Lila softened, "She's still my mother." she smiled weakly and took Portia's hand in hers, "Sorry."

Portia raised an eyebrow and shot back playfully, "Accepted, if you promise to point out one of your mother's owls-"

Leilianna's smile brightened, "If any of them are there." The friends laughed and continued along their nighttime excursion.

The trip made a few things clear to Sam. First, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors would have to really work at it to be fat, they walked up and down more stairs than any other house. Second, Hogwarts' closing time had to be somewhere around midnight. Third, owls looked extra creepy in wandlight, especially underlit.

It was cool how the owls didn't cost anything to send off (they were more often rewarded on the receiving end) and how they could find any registered recipient. Mrs. Lafayette set up remote drop-points instead of personal delivery - a legal loophole made to preserve some magicians' experiments (or to save the owls from being blown up, however you wanted to look at it).

Portia and Leilianna went to the big bed when they got back to the room. Sam still had the matter of the letter to her mother. She mixed a drop of the red-black liquid from her vial into an ink-well. Sam was glad for the fountain pen her uncle had given her (ball-points wouldn't work for this, and quills were just too weird!) She'd put out all but one candle, and was done inscribing it when there was a gentle rap on the door. It edged open. Sam asked quizically, "Yesss?"

Leilianna poked her head in and whispered, "I could - I _would_ send a message ... if you wanted," she circled around to the inside of the door and closed it gently, "A secret message to my mother, to have one of her owls sent here. I just have to doodle an owl somewhere in a letter." She sighed, "Scorpius draws much better than I, but anything owl-like will do."

Sam grinned. She held the envelope over the lit candle. It caught fire unnaturally swift. Sam tossed it into the air where it flickered into ash.

"Sam! But you-"

Witherspoon snickered, "It's cool. That's _my_ unofficial channel. I'd use the fireplace, but figure it's part of the floo thing."

Lila shook her head side to side, "Sort of, ours only goes to the clinic." She hesitated, "Could I - could anyone send something your way?"

Sam's grin grew, "Sure. But the person on the other end has to have the right kind of fire, and know to look out for the message."

Lila glanced worriedly over her shoulder. She started to open the door, then leaned into it until it was closed again, "And your mother knows?"

"Mom knows everything."

In another room at Hogwarts

The lone candle shuddered. An outstretched finger touched the tiny flame. As it drew back, the cinders sparked and cooled into a parchment labeled in familiar script. Sam's mother smiled, her teeth bright in the darkened room. The disguise, the years and weight, melted away as she thought to herself, _So she thinks of me, for this moment, I shall be._

Chapter 38 First Ball

Severus

It wasn't fair. It wasn't really _unfair,_ but it sure didn't feel fair. Slytherin had four of the same players from last year and three new players (lower house anyway). That sounded good. Until you included that Slytherin had placed last the year before (lower and upper). It wasn't a sure thing that those four had something to do with finishing last, but they sure didn't have ANYTHING to do with coming in first.

That was last year, though, and this was this year. And the first Quidditch match of the season was the third and fourth place teams (losers) from last year. Ravenclaw only had two new players, but five third place finishers. Somewhere in there was a math problem, but one of the advantages of Hogwarts was not having to think too much about math. As Severus hovered up to the Slytherin goals, he thought that the only math that mattered was ten per goal, and one hundred and fifty for the snitch. Well, maybe he could figure it out. The thought of fractions of percents was still on Severus' mind when the cheering started.

"Wake up, Potter!" Emmerlinse shouted from a tower. Ravenclaw had scored.

Leilanna rolled her eyes and shook her head before diving to follow the Ravenclaw seeker. She was cute, but too serious all the time. Sam on the other hand was ... where was she? She'd promised (well, _said_ ) she'd be there even if she didn't like Quidditch. _Quidditch, Potter!_ Severus' scattered thoughts came back to the game. He kicked out at the last second. This time the cheering wasn't as loud, but at least it was for a blocked goal instead of a scored one. Severus was also glad the quaffle had gone to another Slytherin (not that he had aimed). It was just too bad that teammate was Nott. The novice beater reacted by batting the not-a-bludger ball at an equally shocked Ravenclaw girl. Laughter erupted from the stands as she dodged and the quaffle landed in the grass below. _Lower league!_ By the end of the game, the only math that Severus thought of was seven blocked goals to two scored. The score of one-seventy to sixty was too disappointing otherwise.

The only consolation was the Hallow's Eve feast which would include heaping amounts of pies, crisps, and spiced pumpkin juice. There'd also be dancing, but that was a girl thing. _Samantha's a girl!_ Severus tried to catch up to her in the crowd headed to the dungeon. He overheard her asking Lafayette and Hirsch about their costumes. Severus thought hurriedly about what he had that could be considered a costume.

Sam

"Seriously, you two gotta wear something for Halloween." Sam laid out her outfit on Lila's bed.

"Clothes _are_ something." Leilianna was in her gray-green sweats again, "It's All Hallows' Eve. And that's not even today. The ball's three days early because of the weekend." She flipped up several green pieces, "You matched your gloves to your pants but you've no skirt or trousers?"

Sam flung her shirt off and tugged on the red tunic, "It was Samhain, and it's about dressing up as goblins and orcs, werewolves and undead to trick the demons." She grabbed the bottom and bent over as she pulled down her jeans.

Lila continued to stare at the ceiling and huffed, "How many times do I have to remind you other people are in the room?"

Sam stood as she pulled up the mini-shorts, "As many times as you want to hear me remind you we're all girls." She grabbed the green boots and crouched over again, "Unlike you two, I do not have a man of the house at home." She straightened up and kicked out each foot in turn to inspect her new footwear. Barely audible, she bemoaned, "Don't even have a house."

Portia piped up, "Marta lets mother wear whatever she wants or doesn't around the house, but I always have to be proper dressed just to leave my room. It's not fair."

 _For the thousand and first time, do not ask who Marta is!_ Sam forced herself back to the subject at hand, "WHAT are you two going as?"

Lila sighed, "It's not about tricking demons, it's about venerating the saints."

Sam growled, "Grrr! What are you, Catholic?

"Yes! Where do you think I go every Sunday?"

"A Catholic witch. Portia, what are you going as?"

Portia rolled her eyes, "I was gonna go as a vampire. Mother brought me a really cute outfit on Family Day, but after meeting Emmerlinse ..." she groaned.

Sam nodded, "Don't feel too bad, there are plenty of hot yet cool, blood-thirsty vampires somewhere besides Hogwarts." She strapped the pocketed, yellow belt around her waist.

Leilianna arched her eyebrows, "And what kind of monster are you supposed to be?"

Sam bragged, "I'm an age-appropriate superhero. 'Cause after the church failed to co-opt it, capitalism bought it outright. Portia, how about a ghost?"

"Lame."

"Agreed. Werewolf?" Sam tried again.

"Lamer, hairy, ick!"

"Werewolves lame? Don't agree, but not gonna argue." Sam thought of something anyone would be afraid of, "Dementor?" It also reminded her how Dudley had never responded to her letter, not that he needed to, but ...

Lila objected, "No! That's horrid."

Sam changed tracks, "Black cat? No hairy ick, just basic black with ears and whiskers." She wasn't going to try much more.

Nor did she have to. Portia grinned and nodded, "OK, but won't anything you have be a little small for me?"

Portia was taller (everyone was) and a little thicker (also called "typical"), but Sam had something else in mind, "C'mon, we're at Wizzy-witch prep. None of my stuff started off as is. Gimme your robe. You, too, Lila."

Portia pulled her robe off over her head revealing the silver-trimmed green tracksuit she had taken to wearing to the Quidditch field (delivered by her mother on Family Day). While Leilianna had originally liked it as a tasteful display of house pride, it was now doubly appreciated for another reason, "See, not everyone just doffs every scrap of clothing. And dare I ask what you have in mind for me?"

Sam's answer was condescending, "A nun, in classic black and white, Miss Churchy-pants."

Lila was skeptical, "You think a nun is frightening?"

Sam tugged and drew a tail out of the backside of Portia's robe. She went to work on the neck. "To most Catholic school students, but probably not here, Hogwarts, there aren't many devoutly religious magicians."

"I'll have you know a number of wizards and witches serve the Vatican." Leilianna continued to be obstinate.

"I bet it's a _low_ number, and I bet they don't refer to themselves as 'wizards and witches'," Sam tried to make her retort playful. She finished shaping ears from the hood and handed the modified robe to Portia.

Portia was intrigued, "Why would witches ever buy new clothes if they can do this?" She pulled the eared-hoodie tight over her head. The pointed ears were perfect though the several whiskers poking out from each side were a little uneven.

Sam donned her gloves and answered matter-of-factly, "Integral inertia, everything tries to return to its original shape. And even if you use enough energy to convert it completely, it's still the same fabric, it wears out just the same." She made a ripping noise, "You can change its shape, but you can't change its nature. Law of conservation of mass and energy applies, magic or not." Sam fastened the yellow cape around her neck.

Portia paused in adjusting her robe/costume, "Is that going to be on the Transfiguration midterm?"

Sam put on an oversized pair of square-cornered, green-tinted sunglasses, "Not yet."

Even in the hallway to the Great Hall, Sam noticed (and was noticed due to) the differences in Halloween dress up between herself and the resident students. Only half the students had costumes on. And everyone she saw who bothered to dress up was dressed as something scary: a monster, creature, or undead. There were dragons, bogwumps, three guys on each other's shoulders as a troll, orcs, vampires, ghosts. Among the sea of brown, dark green, gray and black, Sam drew a lot of attention in bright red, yellow, and green. The sudden focus on her entrance was disconcerting. She tried to ease her own nerves with half a joke, "A nun, a cat, and a sidekick walk into a bar."

Sam, Portia, and Leilianna edged by the table along the rear wall. It was where the Gryffindor table would usually be, but this night the tables were pushed to the walls to leave a dance floor in the middle. In theory anyway. While a few older students danced, most everyone gathered in small, yet crowded groups around the food-laden tables. The music (four-piece string) could barely be heard over the multitude of conversations. The girls cut through to the corner of the table along the far wall. Leilianna backed up while Portia and Sam compared the varied candies and cookies.

"Gah, the worms move!" Sam tossed one at Portia who predictably jumped and screeched as the candy slithered on her cheek.

"Eeek!" Portia retaliated by thrusting a snake cookie at Sam. The doughy serpent hissed weakly and sent both girls into giggle fits. The licorice bats were more popular for their limited flight vice for eating. Alternately, the demon head red-hots were both a figuratively and literally hot commodity due to their (temporary) fire-breathing illusion.

Portia managed another flaming belch as Sam failed burp after burp. Leilianna lamented, "You're being disgusting." Sam countered by shoving an entire werewolf cookie into her mouth. The howling rose and fell as she chewed with her mouth open. Lila pursed her lips, but failed to fight off her own laughter.

"We had banshee crisps last year, but tha friar protested that they were in bad taste," said the headmaster from behind them.

At seeing his pointed ear cowl and black cape, Sam exclaimed, "Holy serendipity, Vamp-man!" They high-fived each other.

Orinsworth smirked, "I was going more for the comic book than that old television stuff. And who might you be? Early Grayson, Drake?"

Sam stepped onto the bench to approach the headmaster's eye level, "Sure as hell not Jason! Oops, uh, sure as 'heck'?" She backpedaled as she saw the young boy in a red and black version of her own costume beside his father. "And aren't we the cutest little Damian?" She got to the ground and knelt down. Sam smiled, but the boy cowered, shielding himself in his father's cape, "Where's Talia, or Selina, or Barbara?"

The headmaster nodded once, "Yeah, quite a choice of Missus Waynes, isn't it? She's looking after the daughter who doesn't like large crowds. AH, the glasses! You're Carrie then, aren't ya?"

Sam stood tall (for her) again, "Heck yeah! Best Robin ever, even if she ain't canon. What happened to all you Brits dressing scary?"

Orinsworth teased, "You saying I'm not scary? Nah, pay attention." He pointed around the hall, "There's some mermen, gettin' shot down by an Egyptian Queen Weasley and Roman Prefect Shacklebolt. Over there's a unicorn, pegasus, few centaurs, regular equine contingent, isn't it? You ladies having fun?"

"Woooh!" Sam cried out as Portia jumped and spun in a circle, while Lila suppressed a chuckle.

"Great, here's some diabolic red hots," he tossed a tube from his belt. Sam and Portia were stopped mid flail as Leilianna reached out and caught the package herself. Orinsworth laughed, "You girls have a good time, but not too good, sister." He pointed at Lila and winked before and continuing on through the crowd, son in tow.

Sam hopped back onto the bench and declared, "O-M-G, he winked at you, Lila! Life - is - not - fair."

Leilianna protested, "He didn't mean it like that! He's a grown- **married** man."

Lila's distraction let Portia slip the candies away, "He's still fit. Father certainly thought Mister Orinsworth should be much, _much_ older."

Sam mock whined, "So I'm supposed to settle for little boys?" She looked behind her at the tugging on her cape, "Speak of the devil, what are you supposed to be, Sev, grungy, torn clothes: nineties rock star or homeless? No one's gonna get the joke of you being scared of life on the mean, cobblestone-streets of Hogsmeade."

Severus grinned, "Nah, I'm a werewolf."

Witherspoon's brow wrinkled, "No ears, no fangs, no body hair, no effort, no credit."

Potter's grin wavered, "No, see, I'm a werewolf, but it's not a full moon yet." He snorted a nervous laugh.

Lila piped up, "A pureblood would be better. They're always part wolf, with ears, claws, and overgrown teeth. And a full moon only makes them go full werewolf if they expose themselves to it."

"Never go full wolf." Sam jumped down, steadying herself on Severus' shoulders, "That is so incredibly lame, Sev," she leaned in, squeezed him tight, and leaned back, "and so incredibly meta at the same time. Portia!" Hirsch blew a jet of harmless fire at Potter. Sam corrected, "No! I mean perfect, but - GIMME!" They all laughed. Halloween had already been Sam's favorite holiday, it was that much better with friends.

Scorpius

He was tired of hearing about the Halloween ball. It had been a week already. Everyone should have been focused on their midterms (no matter how much the older students guaranteed that first year exams would be easy). Samantha, of course, would not have been quiet regardless, and thus did not matter as much to Scorpius. Leilianna, though, she usually went to church on Halloween, yet she went to the party, too, as a nun no less. She had lectured Scorpius when he had expected the nuns at her church to wear the same black and white habit Lila wore as a costume. Then there was Severus. He was so pleased with how well his last minute idea had turned out: an unchanged werewolf. It seemed rather tasteless considering how well his family knew Theodore Lupin, the son of a martyred werewolf.

Scorpius had met the older boy when they had attended Grandmother Cissy's funeral. It was a brief and somber encounter, but Lupin had made a special effort to comfort Scorpius, "Don't fret too much, they might not be with us, but the love we have for them never goes away." Scorpius imagined being an orphan gave one much more insight on the loss of loved ones. The only insight his current friends provided was how great "Hellhot" candies were.

When they stopped going on about Halloween, the subject of interest became the upcoming Quidditch game. Somehow, Leilianna and Severus were worked up over a match that they would not even participate in. Hufflepuff (the lower league winners from last year) would face Gryffindor. Severus at least had his cousins to cheer on. Lila's sole stake in the game was to scope out the next team Slytherin would face. She was still upset over missing the snitch in her last game. Scorpius assured her she need not be so hard on herself, it had been her first game ever.

Not hard on herself? Malfoy did not want to admit it, but that was exactly what he was doing to himself. It wasn't that he hated how much fun everyone else had at the ball he'd chosen to not attend. Or how much they looked forward to Quidditch, which he would not have watched if not for them. What he hated was not having any of that fun himself. He was jealous. Scorpius had decided that no one would want to see him, a Malfoy, the son of the last Death Eater, enjoy himself. They would not even want to know that he **could** have fun. The winter break would not come soon enough. Scorpius could not wait to get home and, if not have fun, just relax from _not_ having fun.

The Quidditch match was quite a disappointment to all but Gryffindor. They had four fourth years, and one each of the lower years. They were bigger, more experienced, and seemed almost faster than the younger Hufflepuffs (who had no fourth years). The game was lopsidedly uninteresting. As the sun set, the chances of finding the snitch and ending the game diminished.

Severus pointed out, "Longest game ever went on three months, Ollie Wood told me. They had to sleep in shifts 'til they caught the snitch."

Leilianna was slightly aghast, "Why am I surprised you would know **the** Oliver Wood? However - " She switched to arguing, "It was six months. And it ended when both teams gave up, but that doesn't matter here."

Peryton turned in his seat, "How's that not matter?"

Several others looked in anticipation of Lila's answer, "Because the Hogwarts snitches are enchanted to slow down after dark, if it takes too long they'll start to glow. Not that it's going to be that dark, tonight is a full moon."

The assembled Slytherins nodded. Only Samantha protested, "Ah!" Well, not so much protested as she doubled over and clutched her sides.

"Sam?" Lila was concerned.

Samantha's response was pained, "I gotta go."

Severus, on the other hand, was oblivious, "Yeah, really, score's three hundred ta zip, we're losing the greenhouses for sure."

Leilianna asked again, "Sam, is it -?"

Sam nodded and shot off, "Yeah, it is, bye." Witherspoon shuffle-jogged down the stands. Her departure didn't trigger the mass exodus that followed, but it certainly didn't discourage it. Even Emmerlinse, as referee, seemed tempted to depart. The next day they heard the final score was five hundred and fifty to thirty.

Chapter 39 A Guide to Guests and Gifts

Sam

December 15

It would have been easier if it was colder. Colder, and there wouldn't be so much humidity, the air wouldn't sting on her skin as she walked through it. Despite the terrible weather, Sam wanted to be outside. She had experimented with no success ( _yet!_ ) to rig her phone to play in Hogwarts. The interference was just too great, her converter too slow to charge faster than the drain. If she wanted to listen to her music, she had to push the boundaries of her confinement. She was not allowed beyond Hogwarts, so, she plodded atop the outer wall instead.

Skein followed a ways back, just within Sam's peripheral. That was the best she could hope for. Sam was tempted to make the call, but knew her mother would have it route directly to voicemail lest she give up the game.

The train whistle cut through the too-loud music in her ears: fifteen minutes to final boarding. It would be safe to go back to the castle soon, safe from all the potential well wishes and pity Sam hoped to avoid.

Sam jumped down into the shallow snow. Her landing (crash) left much to be desired. She flexed her hands against the sting. Her phone was safe, but the cords were tangled over her head. Sam felt something tug as she stood. Mom, as Skein, wouldn't help. So Sam figured her ear buds were caught on something, and was careful lest she damage them (more). Then, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. A person in a tan coat, and what she felt was a hand moving up her head. Sam slapped the person's hand away before she spun, stumbled and fell (again). The collar might change what people saw, but it did nothing to alter what could be felt. Why would her mother let someone sneak up on her?

"I'm sorry." That was why, it was Leilianna. She reached out to help Sam up from the snow. "I shouldn't have startled you."

Sam was ready to be angry. It was easy when everyone else was going to spend the holiday with their families, while Sam was stuck at Hogwarts with ... her mother. Except her mother wasn't going to admit to being her mother, not this year. She might as well have been an ocean away, back in Jersey City. And she really didn't want to be mad at Lila. "S'ok. I just ..." Sam didn't want an awkward conversation either, "You're gonna miss the train."

Lila shook her head, "I'm not taking the train. Muh mah and Dad are coming by car. Manchester's much closer than London."

So much for avoiding awkwardness. "What about the people in-between? There weren't any stops or stations on the way up."

Leilianna didn't answer right away. She just stared at Sam with ... worry, pain? "Samantha ... I'd love - ..."

"Hey, I -" Sam tried to cut her off but was interrupted herself.

Everything tumbled out, "I wish you could come home with me, with us, for the holidays, but my grandparents- _most_ my father's family are already here - well, at our home. And there's barely the room for the three of us, and it won't be as bad as Christmas with my mother's family, but -"

Sam finished winding her earphones up, "Hey, it's all right. It's not like I got a host family. It's not like you knew I was coming, or that we'd get along."

Lila smiled and very nearly relaxed, "Still friends then?"

The question earned a laugh, "Ha! Of course, even if we weren't, I'd lie. No way I'm giving up that sweet, private room." Sam hugged Leilianna and patted her on the back.

They stood apart with their arms intertwined and Lila stated, "I'll make certain to find you a gift for Christmas. Mother won't pass up a chance to go shopping."

"Gifts? I still haven't gotten you anything for your birthday!" Sam was ashamed.

Lila immediately reassured Sam, "Oh, you don't have to buy anything for me. I wouldn't be able to, but I know Nana Mensah is going to palm me some money early, he always does when he visits." A woman called out for Lila. "That's Muh mah." The girls squeezed each others' hands before Lafayette ran off. She waved and shouted back, "Merry Christmas!"

Sam shouted back uncertainly, "Happy Holidays!"

"Oh please," Sara mocked.

Sam rolled her eyes, "What, Slytherins lie, or didn't you know that? Anyway, I do like her. Even if she says 'my ma' weird."

"'Mamá', she speaks Spanish, girl."

Witherspoon traced her buds back over her ears, "I knew that."

After Sam was cut off from the world by her music, Skein mocked once more, "'Slytherins lie' indeed."

Scorpius

Severus made for the Front Hall quickly. All the Weasleys were waiting on him to get to the Express. Scorpius thought it was a good thing he and Severus had already said their good-bye's. He made a point to see Lila before she left the Slytherin quarters. It was a bit of a disappointment, though no surprise, to see her make a similarly deliberate effort to do the same with Samantha. At least he got to see her fall on her bum in the snow. _Don't think like that!_ Scorpius admonished himself. It was one thing to live among the Slytherins, he did not want to become like them in spirit as well.

Katarina Lafayette blew a kiss at Mr and Mrs Malfoy as Lila passed her mother by. Mrs Malfoy paused to say something while Mr Malfoy caught sight of and walked towards his approaching son. When they met, Draco inquired, "So, are you ready to celebrate Christmas?" There was a joking edge to his tone. It was too easy. Scorpius felt himself slipping "out of character" as he wrinkled his brow. His father continued on, "Observe the solstice?" Scorpius swallowed a scoffing chuckle. "Winter break?" Everyone else was boarding the train, or staying inside, out of the cold. There was no one there, at that moment, to judge them. No one to hold them guilty of being themselves. Draco snorted and smiled, "How about 'are you ready to get out of this place for two weeks?'"

Scorpius broke into a giggle, "Only _two_ weeks?"

Draco returned a smile and a pat on his son's shoulder. He sombered a moment as he looked back to Mother. Astoria was a lone figure of black topped by soft gold in the stark white field (an excellent exercise for contrast and negative space). Father and son followed the path of her focus to the far wall. Samantha shaped and threw a snowball at the wall. She cheered at her imagined feat. "A child all but alone over the holidays. What do you think of, not feel yourself, but what would you say is the right thing to do?" Mr Malfoy asked.

It was not a typical inquiry. It was one of his father's challenges to make Scorpius think. The obvious answer was to leave Witherspoon to her own devices, she wasn't their problem. But that was how Scorpius felt, and had little to do with thinking through the situation. He set aside why his father would ask, or why his mother had stopped to observe this awful girl instead of the three of them heading home as quickly as possible. Wasn't his mother's one day with the girl enough? And what was the right thing to do? What was the case to begin with?

Samantha was a bothersome - _No, focus on the facts._ Samantha was going to stay at Hogwarts over the holiday. Her family was likely in the United States, for unknown reasons they could not visit nor bring her back. Her only friends, Leilianna, Severus, and the Hirsch girl, had already gone home. There was a possible solution that was both right and comfortable, "We could take her to the Lafayette's."

Draco was quick to respond, "Kobina's entire clan has come over from France. They'll be insisting Lila learn Akan, or French, as if English and Spanish were not enough for a twelve year-old. She'll come away knowing 'easy hair' and 'nice skin'." Mr Malfoy sounded offended at the prospect.

Or perhaps his father asked Scorpius for a solution he had not thought of because he did not want Samantha, or anyone for that matter, intruding on their time together either. Scorpius redoubled his effort. He had to think of her as someone else, or at least no one he knew. She would not be completely alone, there were others that would stay at Hogwarts, not many, and none that she knew, but wasn't that an element of her exchange program? Scorpius was distracted as he saw his mother approach and greet Witherspoon's chaperone.

Samantha's chaperone: that would be a much easier decision. That woman deserved a break, from Samantha, from what appeared to be the mind-numbing tedium of attending classes already learned some fifty or more years ago.

And what about Mrs Malfoy? Or rather, what about Astoria Greengrass and how she had spent her every break at Hogwarts. Scorpius knew that answer already: to his mother, the only thing worse than her childhood at home had been the shattered hopes of her childhood at Hogwarts. Samantha might face the same situation (and thus she had an apointed guardian), but she was nothing like Mrs Malfoy.

Scorpius made his point, "She causes trouble. She thinks she's too clever to pay attention, or to let anyone else pay attention in class." That wasn't entirely true, "Not all the time, but too often." That was closer to the truth. "She starts fights, acts as if she knows everything, expects special treatment because she thinks she's better than everyone else." Then, another caveat, "In Defence especially."

"Sounds familiar, no wonder your mother- ahem, but you were saying." Draco gave a single laugh and a sideways glance to his son.

What had his father called himself? "A Self-centered, arrogant, and manipulative boy." That wasn't the man Scorpius knew. Then again, no one knew the real Draco Malfoy outside of their small family and few friends. To the wizarding world at large, Mr Malfoy was bitter, rude, and still all-too-arrogant. They did not know the contemplative, hard-working, and disciplined man beneath the haughty façade. Did Scorpius' father expect Samantha to reform, to become a concerned and considerate person, in private, if not in public? But did that matter? "Cissy's - no one is using her room," Scorpius offered hesitantly.

"That's true," Mr Malfoy concurred.

Scorpius had lost the debate to himself. Ignoring his personal dislike for her, there was not much of an objective case against Samantha. He had a final hope, one that had saved him in the past, "What do you think, Father?"

Draco breathed deliberately, "I think I would be torn if my wife and my son were at odds."

It hit Scorpius: Mother **wanted** Samantha to come home with them. All his measured manners evaporated, Scorpius nearly whined, "Why? Why would she possibly want to spend time with _her?"_

Mr Malfoy softened at his son's obvious discomfort, "It's no slight against you, Scorpius. But ... she has long thought to correct the errors of her mother and father. Sometimes with you - it's too easy, you're too good." He faced his son fully, "And she wonders what it might have been like - what it might be like if we had a daughter."

Scorpius worried a bit, "Instead?"

Draco countered after a deliberate pause, "Or in addition. Someone else's grown girl is no substitute, but perhaps she's a ..." He searched for the appropriate word.

"A trial." Scorpius offered tersely. It applied to Witherspoon in more ways than one.

His father, of course, caught the dual meaning, "Indeed. Are you up to it?"

At once, Scorpius demanded and amended, "She would have to behave herself, as a guest."

Mr Malfoy nodded in sly agreement, "Of course, I've already addressed such demands to our lead negotiator." The gentlemen approached the ladies. Draco inquired of his wife, "So?" Of course, as Scorpius' father was brilliant, he had already known the outcome.

Astoria answered in her cool (public) voice, "Miss Witherspoon?"

Samantha sighed dramatically, "I swear on my father's grave-"

"Samantha." Skein growled through her teeth.

In her typical fashion, she rolled her eyes at the woman, "I'm pretty certain that's accurate." She turned her attention to Scorpius, "AnNnyway, I swear I won't aim to misbehave and will conduct myself as a very circumspect and temporal guest at the good favor of the Malfoy residence and its earthly hosts."

Skein added in rapid-fire, "No practical jokes, no _im-_ practical jokes, no teasing, no mocking, not by word, deed, gesture or omission of word, deed, or gesture. You will contribute as you would in your own home and cease in any activity or discussion when requested, suggested, or commanded. These guidelines are to be abided by at all times, but are by no means the entirety of the limits or duties by which you will conduct yourself. Do you understand and commit to this agreement?"

"I'm not eighteen, so nothing's bind-"

The guardian addressed Astoria abruptly, yet politely, "I am sorry, it was quite generous of you to offer, however Miss Witherspoon is unwilling-"

In like fashion, Samantha interrupted her handler, "All right, ALL RIGHT! I agree, commit, E-U-L-A read and understood, check and confirm!"

It did not take long to pack Witherspoon's belongings. She had one (enchanted) trunk which she moved easily enough on her own (magically). Skein had even less (one carry-on, hand-pulled). It seemed the Malfoys and their guests were the last of the day to leave Hogwarts. Most of the students had taken the train south or the bus north. Even those that lived closer, like the Lafayettes, had taken an early day off to fetch their children. The Malfoys, self-employed, had not afforded themselves such a luxury.

The drive to Liverpool highlighted the self-employed aspect of Scorpius' family. Astoria spent most of the trip negotiating shipping and receiving arrangements, pricing, and special requests over her headset/phone. Draco, who drove, would start to suggest something only to be glared at by his wife, who then pointed to the steering wheel and the road before them. Samantha, thankfully, kept to tapping at her own phone.

Country roads became anonymous highways, which were later replaced with city streets and the recognizable sights of Liverpool. Scorpius relaxed just at the feel of the car slowing into a familiar left turn. The buildings and streets were a comfort. They were a sign he was almost home. Except, then a turn felt off.

"HA!" Samantha burst out, "Wait, wait, wait, how come we're not turning onto _Merlin_ Street?" Draco chuckled as Samantha continued, "No, MODRED?!"

Draco teased, "Half the length."

Miss Skein, between Samantha and Scorpius, suggested, "Morgan should intersect both."

Astoria removed her earpiece, "You went out of the way for that." Mr Malfoy didn't say he had, yet his smug grin was an implied confession.

Nearly at their destination, Samantha went on with her comments, "What's with the little fences? That is **so** not a yard. Everyone's parked on the sidewalk. All the cars are blue, silver, or red. There's, like, no pickups or real trucks. All the places look the same. How do you figure out which one is which?"

Scorpius' patience reached its limit. He leaned past Skein, "We use numbers, have you heard of them?"

Samantha shot back, "I don't know, looks like we invented parking spaces, though. Has that technology made its way back to the old world."

"Samantha!" Skein hissed.

At the same moment, Astoria snapped, "Scorpius!"

The silence was only briefly broken after Mr Malfoy parked (on the pavement). Scorpius asserted under his breath, "They do _not_ all look the same."

Miss Skein was unusually helpful in removing Witherspoon's trunk from the boot. Mr Malfoy and she lifted the large box to the door. Without magic, Samantha was just in the way. Draco shifted his grasp to free up one hand to unlock the door, but the trunk was quite heavy. Samantha seized the opportunity by seizing the keys. She opened the front door, but instead of standing aside, she turned back and asked, "Wait, do you guys live on the first or the top floor?"

Not even inside the house, and her presence grated on Scorpius, "What kind of question is that? The top floor _is_ the first floor. And it's our house, we live on all the floors of it we want."

Samantha held the door and stared vacantly. Scorpius expected she would have some flippant retort, but it was his mother who chided him instead, "Scorpius, mind yourself! You demand guestlike behaviour, you best conduct yourrself as a host in exchange." She tapped Skein's shoulder and softened her tone, "It's a sharp right at the top of the stairs, Draco, best you two change places. Sara, it will be easier to go straight into the bathroom and then turn back in."

Scorpius wanted Samantha to take the lounge. Miss Skein, however, volunteered instead, while Samantha was assigned Narcissa's room (He hadn't _actually_ suggested she take the room). The full weight of the decision, and the pain of the memory were too close here, "But that's grandmother's room!"

Mother sighed audibly. Samantha slumped against the wall. Mrs Malfoy put a hand on her shoulder, "Narcissa's ... all her things have been packed, there are boxes in your room, things I thought you might want." Astoria let out another deep breath and leaned against the entry wall, "Sam, this is the ground floor," she pointed up, "that is the first floor."

Scorpius marched up the stairs. For him, this would be no break at all.

Sam

It was a mistake. Sam should just find a fireplace and get right back to Hogwarts. Well, Hogsmeade first, then ... it didn't matter if she was alone, or if Mom stayed all cosmo'd up. Hogwarts wasn't home, but it was better than the trailer, better even than the apartment had ever been. Nowhere was truly home, and she should get right back to it.

Astoria used her mom-based mind reading abilities, "What's your home like?" Sam eyed up the stairs, she did not want to make such information known to Scorpius. Except Mrs. Malfoy figured that out, too, "Come, guests should be received in the 'lounge'." She opened the door (that Sam had thought was a separate apartment) to a warm yellow living room. "So, what kind of house do you live in?" Astoria sat on the patterned couch and patted a seat for Sam to do the same.

It wasn't precisely Sam's dream house, but it was better than she'd ever lived in (the dungeon luxury suite at Hogwarts didn't count). The Malfoy house was entirely normal and nice, "Your house is pretty great."

Mrs. Malfoy laughed. She responded in a formal tone, "You haven't even seen the east wing." Then she comically gestured up and down, left and right with her fingers, "No, that's not right, the house doesn't quite align north/south or east/west. I'm sorry Scorpius is being so difficult. I ... " Astoria stared into the blank television over the fireplace. "We'll get you back up to Hogwarts right away. I'm sorry."

Sam could sense the sorrow. The source was obvious, but not the basis, so she went with a distraction, "It's not really a house, our place. It's a trailer, a mobile home, only it never went anywhere."

Astoria continued to gaze off, "You have your own room?"

Sam shook her head, "Nah. I mean, kinda, but it's not ours anymore. Pretty sure someone else has swooped in on that deal. How often do you find a place with a dining-living-bedroom-kitchen combo just off the freeway with convenient access to off-brand gas and lodging?"

"Where are all your things then?"

"Your manservant just put 'em in the east wing. Trunk's got everything we own."

"And when you go back?"

"Mom'll figure things out. New job, new place. Well, new to us, anyways. Or maybe go back to Paterson, not that we blend."

Mrs. Malfoy took hold of Sam's hand, interlaced their fingers, and made a comforting squeeze. "What would you like to eat?"

"Peebee-en-jays and I'm set for life."

Astoria replied as flat as if she was on Sam's meds, "Scorpius hates peanuts."

Sam grimaced in sympathy, "I can figure out-"

Astoria squeezed Sam's hand again, "Let's find you some."

Sam knew to not complain. It was hard, though. First off, the store was weird. The aisles were way too close, the ceiling too low, and it _felt_ even browner than it looked. Astoria called it the "co-op". Sam quickly realized the expression was nothing like the video game term. More likely, this place had been built before the advent of video games, or video, maybe even games in general.

There were very few brand names, but there was a LOT of generically labeled "varieties" of stuff. The peanut butter, both kinds, was likewise unbranded. Astoria asked Sam if she wanted creamy or chunky (chunky, of course). They got a glass jar of peanut butter with oil and peanut bits floating on top (Astoria assured Sam it would be fine once mixed). On the upside, the place had tons of fruits and green stuff. Granny Smith apples were Sam's favorite. Astoria noted the calendar and mentioned it was a good pick as they were not limited by season (whatever that meant). The whole bill came out over a hundred-fifty pounds. It wasn't all for Sam, but she worried about how much that was. And, unlike at Hogwarts, she could use her phone and the internet to figure out what that amount really was. The math in her head didn't make sense, but the calculator confirmed her answer ($270, 20 more than she'd guessed). It was more than Sam and Mom spent on even a month's worth of stuff back home. She locked her phone and swore to herself she'd be happy with anything the Malfoys made no matter how weird the food or the store it came from was.

Groceries were not the only shopping pending. Once everything was put up (in a separate kitchen), and everyone fed (in a "formal" dining room) Mrs. Malfoy brought up the topic of Christmas presents. Well, she actually only mentioned "presents", Sam just added "Christmas" in her head. It was December after all. Scorpius said he had a list, and needed to go to the Wizarding Wheezes shop. Sam did not want to admit that she'd wanted to go there, too. She had already wanted to go there long before Scorpius brought it up. Then she thought of that day, and what had (and almost had) happened that prevented her going before. Sam was suddenly reluctant to revisit Diagon or Knocturn Alley, but that seemed to be **the** destination for magic shopping for all of Great Britain.

On Wednesday morning they drove out to some docks. Sam was hesitant, but said nothing as she thought of the rules she'd agreed to and her affection for Astoria. Rare Reagents had its warehouse and main office in Liverpool. Said office was oddly tacky (discolored and worn carpeting) and plush at the same time (polished wood desk, leather chairs and a _huge_ fireplace). On seeing the carved mantle and (maybe) marble hearth, Sam knew why they had gone there: floo time. They all went to Rare Reagents, London. Not only was the floo powder unbagged (and therefore unpilferable), but their return trip would be to Rare Reagents, Liverpool. Except, if they came from London, and said "Rare Reagents" they would automatically go to the other office. Sam briefly toyed with just "flooing" back and forth as fast as she could say "Rare Reagents" over and over.

When Sam arrived, Mr. Malfoy was heated up over something, "We can't keep our largest client waiting, much less this time of year, **where - is - he?** "

The clerk was nervous, she turned back to the much more bored and much less official looking man behind her - it was a different guy from last time. "Bored" was kind of dumpy and he sounded like he looked, "Highest payin' don' make it the largest. Anyway Draco, that ain't 'er job. Look, I'll take care of it."

"No. On time, I can afford the antagonising and send _him_ , but it's already late. They're going to expect an explanation."

The bored guy scoffed, "And you're gonna give it? Think we all know 'Storia's got more a knack at smoothin' ruffled feathers than you - or me." Despite the clerk being scared, this guy wasn't cautious in the least.

Astoria stood straighter, her face stony calm. Draco's foul mood only got worse, "I was already on my way there. Make the delivery, I'll make the ..." His face soured, _"apology."_ He spat the word out like poison. Sam's curiosity as to who Mr. Malfoy detested so much was soon satisfied. Father and son would be going to the Wheezes shop officially known as "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes". Apparently, many people shortened it by cutting off the Weasleys part. The prevailing theory was that the former Auror, Ronald Weasley, had burned some bridges within the Ministry by "abadonning" his best friend/everyone's hero, Mr. Potter. That was the same guy that had tried to front with Mr. Malfoy at Hogwarts. Hard to believe someone so uncool had such an awesome business.

Mr. Malfoy left swiftly, his son struggled to catch up. Mrs. Malfoy opened a small wardrobe and donned a robe from within. As she got all wizard-y, Sam went out front of the shop with Sara right behind. Sam turned to get a better look at the two-story shop. She instantly regretted having stepped outside at all. The alley, _that_ alley, was right there.

Sam was clearly distracted when Astoria joined them, "We should check on Ollivander's before we do anything else."

The thought brought Sam back to the present, "Seven galleons ..." Not that it did anything to improve her mood. Her eyes welled up, "I saved all year, no soda, only one candy a week, and I got up to a hundred bucks, and-"

"One hundred dollars? Impressive," Astoria observed sincerely.

Whether her objection was emotional or rational, Sam thought otherwise, "No! I did the math before, but that was for what I was gonna buy. And now you bought us food, and you already had stuff at home, and it's a really nice home, but it's not a _really, really_ nice home, and more than half of what you got was for me and- and you don't just have money to burn, and half'd be seventy-five pounds, and THAT'S a hundred, thirty-five dollars alone." Astoria tried to interrupt, but Sam ranted on, "And that's muggle money. Galleons are thirty pounds each, FIFTY-one bucks! I don't even have TWO galleons to start with. I-" The tears slipped down her cheeks.

Astoria looked about uncomfortably before she knelt down, "I'm sure yours and Sara's contributons will count in your favor."

Miss Skein spoke up, "I have the wand-maker's word he will discount the price greatly."

Sam hiccuped and sniffed, "Great, less said about that the better." She coughed and choked on a bitter laugh.

"Nearly two galleons is still quite impressive for a lady your age." Astoria was once again proper in tone, despite her less formal stance. She nodded her head towards the alleyway, "You like what Mister Malfoy's had done with the place?" The narrow path was quite different: several emberstone lamps lined the walls, the broken or missing cobblestones had been replaced (the clover patch was gone), and the once bare portal was sealed with a heavy, iron-banded door. "Though he is the CEO of Rare Reagents, he needed budget approval from his C-F-O, the Chief Financial Officer."

Sam turned back to Mrs. Malfoy, "How much?" She tensed in anticipation of the response.

Mrs. Malfoy barely shrugged, "After trading in some political capital, the rug shop gave up their old storage at a cut-rate schedule of thirty-five galleons a month for five years."

Sam shouted, "THIRTY-FIVE!"

Astoria went on, "Yes, they knew we had the property in mind, but ... felt remorse that had they made an offer sooner, had the area been improved sooner, certain events might not have come to pass. They conceded fifty galleons towards said improvements. That convinced the CFO to sign off on the purchase."

Sam sniffed and wiped at her eyes and nose, "Is he the upstairs guy, smoky from last time, or the bored dude?"

Astoria smirked, "No, she's the one trying to reassure a young lady that, as the one in charge of accounts receivible, payroll, and budgetting, she knows exactly what her family can afford in the ways of groceries and wands."

Mrs. Malfoy's smile was warmer than Witherspoon's attempt, "But I thought you went to school for animals, zoology or whatever."

"Dual degree," Astoria answered simply, "I enjoy zoology, but I needed something that would pay the bills if that fell through."

"Didn't mean to sound like a jerk, doing the math, I just-"

Astoria reassured, "No, no, it's wonderful to have someone else in the wizarding world know more than algebra for alchemists."

The rest of the shopping excursion went great in Sam's opinion, even when she had to give up Mrs. Malfoy to Scorpius so they could buy gifts for Mr. Malfoy. It was too bad Mr. Ollivander's remained closed all day.

Scorpius

At least they could do _this_ without Samantha Witherspoon about.

Mr Malfoy ensured Pritchard's shipment was inventoried and signed over before he went to the actual salesfloor. This time of year the owner, George Weasley, would be there, engaging customers and enjoying the crowd. Or rather, that's what he would have been doing if it hadn't still been too early for the public. Instead, the Malfoys found the store vacant except for the employees setting up. Their boss sat cross-legged on a counter, twirling a bushy animal tail. Draco almost sounded sincere, "I deeply regret the delay of your supplies. I hope it hasn't upset your business, Mister Weasley."

George Weasley made an exaggerated point of looking over each of his shoulders. A jest he quickly regretted as turning to his left caused him to wince. He adjusted the lopsided hat to better cover his bandages, but pretended he, nor anyone else had noticed, " _Mister_ Weasley? Who you think I am, Draco, my ..." He paused in faux consideration, "Wait, is there _any_ Weasley you don't hate?"

Draco slyly drawled, "'Hate' is such a strong word. The youngest of you married strategically enough anyway."

Mr Weasley snorted, "Ginny? Never figured you for a Potter fan!"

Mr Malfoy affected a confused retort, "Oh, is she the youngest? I meant his sidekick, her well-to-do husband."

"Ha! Ron is a lucky prat, even off-the-rails his wife's too good for him." George twisted the fluffy length about with his finger. He noticed Scorpius' darting glances at the toy. "What's your name, boy?"

Draco answered dryly, "Scorpius."

The fox leapt at Scorpius, its mouth spread wide, fangs and claws poised to rip and tear. He threw his arms up, half to protect himself, half to catch the animal. He failed in both respects as the detached tail slipped through his outstretched hand. Relief swept over him and caused him to giggle in gasps, "Brilliant!"

"A turn-tail." Mr Weasley explained as he hopped down, "I need tha' shipment to make a hundred more. Ron's a prat, but I wouldn'a had these out in time fer Halloween next year if he was still out runnin' around with Harry. He'd have the store open early today, too, if he weren't at the factory." George stared down at Scorpius, "Flinched, but ya didn't run." He was taller, thicker than Scorpius' father. Only his drooping hat drew away from the menace of his stature. Mr Weasley turned to Draco and suggested, "Must get it from his mum."

The tension between the men was all too obvious. Scorpius' amusement evaporated, and he suddenly wondered if he'd failed yet again. Had his brief break in character exposed the Malfoys, Mr Malfoy especially, to the scrutiny they strove to avoid? His efforts had focused on the supernatural threat of legilimency instead of the more common threat of interacting with people. He should not have enjoyed the toy. He should not have laughed. Scorpius bent down, picked up the "turn-tail" and put it on a nearby counter. He held his arms across his chest and stared at a distant spot along the aisle floor.

"Tammy!" Weasley barked. Draco did not waiver as his client (opponent) shouted, "Show ... Scorpius here around. His father 'n' I got bus'ness ta discuss."

The young woman was eager and very helpful. Scorpius was too worried to appreciate the service, though. He did notice that although the store was often described as a joke store, there was a very diverse selection. All the products, funny or not, were aimed at children (or childish people). There were humorous ones like "pimple peas": straw-friendly projectiles that caused persistent blemishes. Then there were more practical items like a line of enchanted cosmetics (to mask blemishes - magical or otherwise). Scorpius counted up the cost of his selections and found himself marginally over-budget. His father and Mr Weasley did not appear to have moved. The rush of returning tension overwhelmed Scorpius. He blurted out, "I'm short a sickle, Father - sir."

Mr Malfoy reached into his pocket without shifting his eyes. George Weasley was approached by an older woman (older than Tammy at least). She whispered to him. As Draco singled out a silver coin from his change, Mr Weasley waved, "On the house."

Mr Malfoy nodded in acceptance. Draco raised an eyebrow, "The house appreciates the surplus?"

George Weasley sneered, "More than you sayin' you're sorry." Draco sniffed and shook his head in answer. Tammy bagged up Scorpius' selection. She offered it over to Mr Malfoy. Draco's flash-smile to Scorpius was gone before Mr Weasley's parting retort, "Don't go forgettin' that house is Gryffindor."

Chapter 40 A Rest For the Wicked

Scorpius

The several days dragged by as if they were weeks. Scorpius' father was out on business. Mother was home, but was also busy with work most of the day. Witherspoon's guardian was not much of an issue. Though she spent the night in the lounge, each morning the room appeared untouched, and the woman herself was composed and without complaint. Samantha on the other hand ...

Samantha claimed her comments weren't complaints, though that would never fool Scorpius. She'd never seen a clothes washer in the kitchen nor a drying rack inside a house (it was easily out of the way over the stairs). Her fascination at the Malfoys not using plastic came across as condescending (as if glass and stainless steel were the tools of cavemen). She had somehow convinced Mrs Malfoy to purchase peanut butter. Yet Samantha even "commented" on that: it didn't taste the same, it had to be refrigerated, it had to be stirred. It seemed the only thing she enjoyed about it was Scorpius' reaction when she ate it. It made the entire room smell atrocious.

There was small respite when Miss Skein suggested they get out of the house. She invited Scorpius to join them, but was not shocked in the least when he declined. He used the time to sort out what he wanted to keep from his grandmother's belongings. He brought a box at a time to the kitchen. Mrs Malfoy worked nearby in the tiny hallway office. It allowed for brief moments between the two when she took a break. It was too bad Samantha came back at lunch. At least Scorpius and Mr Malfoy's tradition of watching and discussing the evening news went uninterrupted by their irritating house guest.

It was the fourth day, or perhaps more appropriately the fifth night, or rather, that didn't much matter. What mattered was something was odd. Scorpius had just finished in the restroom when there was a soft clunk. The hall was too dark, his eyes had not adjusted from the light he had just turned off. He turned the light back on. The bathroom appeared normal, nothing had fallen onto the floor, nor in the bath, and though shadowed, the hall was clear as well. He turned out the light. This time the sound was obvious, not only did the toilet flush, but there was also a faint scraping, as if the tank lid had just moved. It drew Scorpius' attention to the rear of the tank, and atop it, ... a potted plant?

No, the pot had no plant, just soil. Samantha staying in Grandmother's room was enough of an alteration to distract Scorpius from some mundane changes, but indoor pots with no plants were unusual under any circumstance. Miss Skein had warned Witherspoon against any practical or "impractical" jokes, was this one of them? Whether it was Scorpius being tired, or just being tired of Samantha, he could not think of what to do. He had not learned any spells to test or identify cursed items or magical traps, an idea his sleepy mind did not realise came more from his video games than from the Hogwarts curriculum. His temper won out over reason, and he pounded at Cissy's- at the _guest_ room door.

Samantha looked him up and down, "Cute PJs, is there a dork slumber party you're missing?" Scorpius wore the dark-blue and star-spotted bedclothes Narcissa had given him. They were only slightly small now. Samantha, on the other hand, had on a long, black shirt with lewd cartoons of an angel and devil and the phrase: "Heaven won't take me and Hell's afraid I'll take over".

And a choker? _What kind of eleven year-old wears a choker?_ Scorpius pushed past the distractions, "What did you put in the bathroom?"

She taunted him along, "The water closet, the loo?" She made quotes with her fingers, "the 'la-vor-a-tory'?"

Scorpius couldn't help but be distracted, "The water closet is a room, the seat is the loo. And the pot on top of the tank was not there before!"

Samantha shrugged, "What makes you think I put it there?"

"Because you do things! You cause trouble. You're a troublemaker."

She barked a laugh, "HA! Scared of a plant now?" Scorpius narrowed his eyes and nearly growled, "I didnt say it was a plant pot."

Samantha narrowed her eyes, "Who keeps cooking pots in the bathroom?"

His parents' door opened behind them. It was his mother, "What's going on?"

Scorpius shot out, "She put some cursed pot in the bathroom!"

"I did not!" Samantha protested.

Astoria calmly asked, "Cursed? What did it do?"

"It ..." Scorpius hesitated, "Well it ..." He was at a loss, "It ... it flushed the toilet. It wasn't there before."

Samantha wiped her hand down her face, "It's not cursed. It closes the lid and flushes."

Astoria asked with more interest, "It does what?"

Samantha sighed and slouched, "It closes the toilet seat, and the lid. The seat's been up a bunch and I didn't wanna fight about it, so I summed a muddie. It puts down the seat and lid and flushes if the water's not already going." She scowled at Scorpius, "Which you wouldn't notice if you did it yourself."

"Samantha." Miss Skein threatened flatly. Still in her suit and skirt, she stood on the steps below, apparently never far off from her troublesome ward.

Scorpius would not tolerate the accusation, "I do not lower the seat, because I never _raise_ the seat!"

Samantha's eyes boggled, "What, you just spray and pray?"

Each woman tried to warn their respective child (Astoria confusedly, Sara certainly). Neither succeeded. Scorpius nearly shouted, "I do not!" Then slightly calmer, "I sit down as a sentry- as a - it's cleaner!"

Samantha scoffed, not upset in the least, "You're a boy and you sit? That is **not** normal!" Skein did not take being ignored, "Miss Witherspoon, you are done. Remove the elemental -"

Witherspoon did not take being ordered, though. She continued at Scorpius, "Then who's been leaving the seat up?"

"I have." Miss Skein cut in. Silence hung for a moment.

Samantha tilted her head to the side, "Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of class?"

The chaperone answered, her professional demeanor intact, "My skills as a housekeeper are quite useful when cleaning up after children. It is common practice -"

Samantha interrupted, yet again, though this time in a sort of surrender, "To leave the seat up when you're done cleaning."

Miss Skein barely smiled, "Along with a trace of the cleanser in the bowl to communicate your efforts."

"It shuts the lid?" Mrs Malfoy was still curious. A collective and confused pause exposed the sounds of the adult Malfoy's bedroom: the flush and rush of water, absent the sound of seat on bowl.

Samantha stifled a chuckle, "Yeah. I made it photosense, when the lights go out, but I can-" Mr Malfoy, in a grey robe matching his wife's, joined the household congregation. Samantha concluded, "- change it within ... certain parameters."

Astoria said in a false hush, "We'll discuss terms. It's tea time, well, cocoa time." She, and Draco, then politely edged past Miss Skein to the ground floor. She stood aside, then followed shortly behind them.

Samantha snorted at Scorpius, "Dork."

Sam

Scorpius ( _in his pwecious wittle constellation pajamas_ ) went back to his room in a huff. The dork had gotten offended at a toilet-lid-shoving, water-flow-triggering mud elemental, a tiny one at that. Sam wasn't in trouble either way, and Astoria was even intrigued. Regardless, Sam was interested in some cocoa time. It wasn't like she had a set bedtime on vacation. She took a moment to secure her trunk just in case. There was no one in the kitchen. Sam tried the dining room, and it was likewise empty. The Malfoy house had a fair number of rooms for not being a mansion. She slowly slid the next door open and found the room dimly lit.

"You don't have to clean up, it's not like you're a house elf," Mr. Malfoy joked.

Astoria disapproved, "Draco."

Sara pressed at the source of the disagreement, "You're experienced with house elves, Mister Malfoy? I hadn't caught the cloying scent of any nearby."

While Sam's mother had been playful, Mr. Malfoy sounded somber in his response, "Yes, but that was ... another lifetime."

Sara distracted from the serious turn, "Speaking of meddlesome, small folk."

Sam knew she was caught. She opened the door fully. "Hi," she said sheepishly with a weak wave of her fingers. Mrs. Malfoy laid on the large couch, curled up against her seated husband, each with a steaming mug in their hands. "Miss Skein" was seated formally on the smaller, side couch. Sam started, "Sorry 'bout the- about upstairs. I-"

Astoria shook her head and smiled, "Come now. I'm sure there's someone you'd like to cuddle up to."

Sam approached the woman who was otherwise her mother, but her appearance, her reaction was not that of the mother Sam knew, "So ... what do you say, lady?"

Sara responded formally, "I say I am the proxy guardian assigned under the Trenton Covenant."

Mr. Malfoy chimed in, "As I understand, you're restricted from revealing the nature of your relationship to those not already aware. However, Ollivander has set off a chain of events beyond your control that has everyone gathered here in the know."

Sara mimed raising a drink in toast, "Excellent point." She turned to Sam and lifted her arm in invitation. At Sam's reluctant reaction, Sara raised her eyes, "Well?"

"My mother warned me about strangers. Un-cosmo first."

Sara mocked, "Let this serve as warning, Missus Malfoy, do not expand your girdle, nor grow wrinkled or worn, lest you learn the painful barb of youthful scorn." Despite the protest, her form contracted as her skin shifted and darkened. In place of of the doughy and plain woman, was the sleek and attractive mother Sam knew and loved.

Sammy leapt onto her mom's lap and squealed, "Oomi!" The adults all joined in laughing at the girl's exaggerrated display. Sam was too ecstatic to care, "I missed you." She kissed Sara on the cheek and embraced her tightly.

Astoria complimented, "You two are so beautiful."

While Sara's shape had changed, her subtly cruel tone remained, "As we appear, but as we are ..." She toyed with her daughter's choker.

"Mom!" Sam clasped her hands about her neck and cringed back.

Sara countered, "What? The Malfoys know your nature and have invited you into their home."

Sam grimaced, "It's not like I'm a vampire, and that invite thing's a myth ... and Scorpius doesn't know."

Her mother challenged, "Are you so certain?"

"He doesn't," Astoria shook her head. "Not that he couldn't keep it secret, he knows about me."

Mr. Malfoy added, "So does half the ministry," He grunted as his wife elbowed him, "Uhn! **All** the Aurors." Astoria poked at his ribs several times more, threatening to spill both their drinks.

Mrs. Malfoy rolled her eyes, "Now, about this elemental, what about moving it to the main suite? An only child I know has trouble with old habits."

"Poor upbringing," Mr. Malfoy teased as he braced against another attack which did not occur.

Sam had posed herself to gaze upon her mother and run her fingers through her hair as she leaned in, then turned to face Astoria, "Sure ... That count as a present? It only took a few- I mean, it's not much."

"Mmm, no, perfect," Astoria reassured. "In fact, I must apologise. I couldn't get a hold of Ollivander again today. His London shop is closed, and he hasn't been to Hogsmeade in months. It may seem an overreaction, but I contacted the Department of Trade and Exchange-"

Mr. Malfoy chimed in, "That's not an overreaction."

"How long does it take to make a wand?" Sam asked.

"A quality child takes nine months," Sara quipped.

Sam responded by yanking her hand back. Mrs. Malfoy made an exaggerated point of continuing, "And they got nowhere and contacted the Department of Law."

 _"That's_ an overreaction. Ollivander is notorious for not keeping regular hours outside of August. The people at Tradex know that," Mr. Malfoy added.

Astoria leaned up, "I said it might seem that way, but he hasn't responded to any of my owls since November. And ... " She sighed and gazed into her mug.

"Yes, the winter solstice exchange of gifts." Mr. Malfoy filled the quiet.

Sam was quizzical, "Not X-mas?"

There was a pause as both Sam and Draco expected Astoria might speak up. Her husband explained instead, "Neither of us had ... an observant childhood."

Astoria came back from her thoughts and grasped Draco's hand, "We have until the weekend then?"

Mr. Malfoy squeezed Astoria's hand and stood, "Well, we have a - what is it you've given us? And what is it made out of?"

Sam giggled at the implication, "I may call it a toilet golem, but it's just some tap water and dirt from your backyard. It was already bare and-"

He nodded, "I know the patch. I think I have a couple items prepared."

Sam brightened up, "Tonight? You got us stuff, Mister M?"

Draco commented as he left through the dining room, "Mister M? Hmm."

Sam sank and turned back to her mother, "I didn't-"

Sara shook her head slightly, "Don't-"

Mr. Malfoy was back with a large brown envelope, "Then perhaps it's fitting this is for Missus Double-U."

Sam explained warily, "Well, she's not exactly a Witherspoon."

"Ah." Mr. Malfoy said as he handed the envelope to Sara.

"It's complicated," Sam continued.

Astoria chuckled and hugged her husband as he returned to his seat, "It's not _that_ complicated."

Sara leaned in towards her daughter and whispered. Sam rolled her eyes and pulled away to sit up straight, "Secrets don't count as presents, and I already figured as much anyway."

Much more softly than her recent persona, Sara apologized, "I thought a confirmation-" Sam held her ars across her chest. Skein gave up. The envelope tab came open crisply.

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong." Sam was clearly sullen. She shifted to curiosity at her mother's obvious interest in the envelope's contents, "What is it?"

Sara fixed her stare on Mr. Malfoy, but directed her rebuttal to Sam, "You said secrets don't count."

Scorpius

It was not Christmas yet. "It's midnight! PRESENTS!" Witherspoon called out gleefully and stomped down the stairs. Scorpius wanted to be upset. He wanted to decry Samantha's behavior as juvenile, inappropriate.

His door cracked open, "Scorpius," his mother whispered. "Did you want to wait until morning?"

He sighed nasally. Scorpius flipped back his covers and admitted reluctantly, "No."

Astoria sounded just a touch excited herself, "See you downstairs then."

Scorpius sat up and glanced at the bundled sheets and the small, wrapped case on his desk. Technically it was Christmas. He was sure of what kept him from being happy about it. Scorpius went to the hall and stared at the door beside the stairs. It was not so much who was there as it was who was not; who would never be there again.

His father's warm hand grasped Scorpius' shoulder. "The two of you would have everything open before the clock struck the quarter."

Scorpius could not help but smile broadly at the memory: he flew the plastic dragon high as his grandmother marched the miniature giant through the pile of torn wrapping paper and ribbons. He sobered slightly and told his father, "I doubt anyone else will be so ... childish."

As if in answer, Samantha squealed, "Holy Hell, owls!" Wings rustled as their owners hooted and parcels thudded upon each other. Scorpius reached the foyer just in time to see a crowd of brown and gray and black and white fight their way back into the night sky.

Draco growled, "I'm sure the neighbors won't notice that!" He slammed the door shut as Samantha examined the feather strewn packages.

Astoria poked her head out the lounge door, "Who's all that for?"

Samantha read off, "Me, me, Scorpius, Scorpius, Scorpius," she grunted at the next gift, "Heavy, Malfoys, Me, something smells pretty for _Scooor-pius_ , from a Fun-taine Doo-bwa!" Scorpius rushed Samantha and swiped at the upheld envelope. She was too fast, though. Samantha taunted him as if he were a small child, "Ah, ah, ah, it's 'do not bend', you have to be careful." She held it out. Scorpius expected her to yank it away again, to become more difficult, but she let him take the envelope easily. "And did you get your young lady friend something for the occasion?"

As if he could have forgotten. Scorpius would show her up, "A pocket-sized astronomical projector."

"That's sweet, you said she likes Astrology," Mrs Malfoy commented as she and Father gathered the gifts and moved to the front room.

Samantha sounded genuine, maybe even slightly forlorn, "Lila really liked the sweatband set you got her for her birthday."

It was not like Witherspoon. It annoyed Scorpius even more when he could not discern what Samantha was up to, "Well, yes, the pads don't - they're not made for warmth, it's - it's none of your business what I give my friends." He pushed past her and grabbed up the last item (it had his name on it after all) and followed his parents. The small (fake) tree took up the bay window as it had for a week now. Miss Skein assisted Mr Malfoy in setting the presents on the window seats to either side.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Mrs Malfoy had a book corner exposed from its brown paper cover, "I thought there'd be gift wrap, more gift wrap, underneath." She handed it to Samantha.

"It's cool," Samantha reassured slyly. She finished the unwrapping quickly and read aloud, "From Lila." She used a thick "Southern" American accent, "From the Heartland," then faked a British accent, "to the Motherland," and then in her own voice, but with a false tone of formality, "Adapting American Methodology to European customs, the -" her face screwed up in confusion, "The Americas edition?" She opened it and quipped, "Well, it's not in Spanish or Quebeçois, that's a relief." The adults laughed. Samantha examined a similarly wrapped package, "Oh, For Hypie, don't worry I have no idea what book, sorry, _what_ it is." She bowwed dramatically and held the wrapped book forward, mocking that she was some royal attendant. Scorpius snatched his gift away from her. She went to one side of the tree and skimmed the presents there, then glanced under the tree, and to the stack on the other side. "Those are yours, 'Hypie', adults' stuff below," she stated dryly. Samantha picked up the few parcels left and sat with them at the end of the sofa away from the door. Scorpius, wary of doing anything to resemble Samantha, instead moved to the chair in the corner closer to his gifts. He assumed she would continue to unwrap, announce, and present, but instead, she sat on the floor, and watched expectantly. Of course, if an arrogant brat was going to pick one day of the year to behave, it would be Christmas.

"Go on, Hypie, tell us what you've got," Mother cheerfully encouraged. Lila gave him the same book Professor Stalvan had mentioned in Transfiguration, written by Lawrence Two Bears. It was (slightly) used, which wasn't unexpected. He tried to not be bitter that Lila had picked a similar gift for Samantha. As the unwrapping progressed, Scorpius did his best to focus on being grateful who gave him seomting, rather than about what he received. It would not have been much effort if not for a few troubling triggers.

Severus gave Scorpius a "Battle of Hogwarts" chess set. It's historical accuracy was questionable (Dumbledore died a year before the battle, yet served as the light king). Severus' father was a knight and his (Weasley) grandparents the rooks. The dark side was ... quite dark. Of course, Voldemort was the king, Bellatrix Lestrange his queen (Mister Lestrange her bishop). It was the dark king's bishop that gave Scorpius pause: his own grandfather, Lucius Malfoy. Like the others, the figure was meticulous in its carving and enchantment; Scorpius placed the piece on the field and moved it to threaten a pawn. The tiny version of his grandfather withdrew a wand from his cane and menaced the dark-skinned boy. It was another inaccuracy, his grandfather had lost his wand before the fighting at Hogwarts, and was prohibitted from replacing it in the two decades since.

Scorpius looked about nervously: Samantha inspected the contents of a black leather briefcase, Father and Mother examined the goggles given to Mr Malfoy. Scorpius spoke up a little louder than he intended, "They're charmed to - they have a charm to - they stay clear, and you can adjust how dark they are, and they can magnify close or telescope-"

Draco held the goggles up eye-to-eye, "And you can barely tell where Potter's name was scraped off."

"Draco." Astoria admonished her husband with a gentle shove.

Scorpius had taken care to "adjust" several of the gifts he'd bought (or "selected", as besides the goggles and star chart, he hadn't ended up paying for most of them). Perhaps he was being too cautious, too concerned. Mr Malfoy wore the goggles and made a deliberate point to adjust them to examine a heavy and awkwardly wrapped bundle Mrs Malfoy had before her. Scorpius took a deep breath and tried to relax. He picked the next brightly wrapped gift from beside the tree.

The hard edges turned out to be a picture frame. It was his family. Astoria, Draco, and Scorpius were posed somberly. He remembered the session, thought back to his parents' anniversary and Grandmother Malfoy insisting they sit for the portrait. Scorpius had thought it would be a magical portrait. He had even commented, no, he had _complained_ that he would have to be careful of how he kept it if it was magical. A non-wizard would become alarmed at the movement of a painting, anyone outside the family would be skeptical at the Malfoys not portrayed as their stoic, public selves. Scorpius traced his hand along the edge to remove the last of the gift paper. He startled at the change. Within the picture, Astoria pinched Scorpius' cheek as he struggled to maintain his impassive expression. Draco flicked his wife's hand back, but she turned on him instead. Scorpius ducked and waved his parents away from his head. They were all smiles and laughing as his painted self raised its eyes again. The real Scorpius couldn't help but smile. They had broken their composure, and Narcissa had captured it, yet had gone the extra effort of hiding it, as well. What had he touched to cause the change, though? Scorpius turned over the frame. A small, pink stone was set in the frame. It was hexagonal, the surface smooth, but the patterns within it uneven. Affixed above the stand hinge was a quarter circle with a silver strand as a dial of sorts. At the right side was 2016 painted in his grandmother's hand. He slid it slowly back to the blank side of the arc. The first date faded, upon reaching the end, a new date appeared: 1992. He turned the frame over in eager anticipation. As he'd imagined, nay, _hoped_ , there was his father, a ten year-old boy, proud and snide, set between _his_ grim father and haughty mother. Though this portrait was also magically animated, this family did not give in to playful teasing or display any other signs of familial warmth.

"The 'asyousee' is not working as advertised." Witherspoon bemoaned. She wore an eyepatch with a monocle clasped to it. "Unless, like, that is some 'make-your-family-look-like-stuck- up-dweebs' joke frame."

 _An asyousee!_ Samantha had the same spying/anti-spying set as Severus (likely FROM Severus). The asyousee let the wearer see through the eye of someone else, if you had them in line of sight, adequate time to "tune in", and stayed close enough to maintain the images (and they relaxed their occulmency as Scorpius had done). She had taken advantage of his inattention to snoop, on what was quite certainly the last portrait his late grandmother had ever painted. It was far too much for Scorpius to tolerate. "Mind your own business!" he shouted as he grabbed what he could and charged from the room.

"Aw! Ack, it works, IT WORKS!" Samantha cried out as she rolled back and flailed, steadying herself against the sudden motion she could see, but did not feel. Through the door, walls, and hall Scorpius barely heard her, "MAY cause nausea."

Such was his rage, that when Scorpius reached his room he nearly threw his gathered presents on the ground. Awkwardly, he let them drop to his desk, then he sat, held his head, grasped the chair, and pounded his fists on the desktop. _Why did SHE have to be here?_ In his own home, in his only refuge from the scrutiny. Where he - where his family, could just be themselves. In these walls they did not need to be careful with their conversations lest they let slip the secret of magic before muggles. Here, they did not have to harden themselves to the judging eyes of the wizarding world, against those that would be unsatisfied to know that the traitorous Malfoys had found some small measure of happiness amongst themselves. There had been no need to hide their thoughts amongst each other. He heaved and sobbed as he realised that neither he nor his family would ever be accepted for who they really were. Scorpius' mongoose was equally upset in his cage - pacing the front window for a sign of what had happened.

Scorpius concentrated to regain guard of his mind. Absently, he dropped a treat through the hatch to calm his pet. A red pulse came from the fallen book before the terrarium. The dragon adorning the bookcover glowed red from its eyes and mouth. It was the mate to the message book he'd sent Severus. He sniffed and wiped his nose before he opened it. The page was half full, but the new letters at the bottom caught his eye first.

[Messy print for Severus (ASP) with occasional very large letters. script/print for Scorpius (SHM)]

ASP: is how I write My familys in a fight on Christmas night and Scorps uptight but hes alright cus hes my mate mite wait mate wight weight might white

SHM: Severus?

ASP: SCROPIUS [story](a line crossed the letters then faded as new letters formed over them) SCORPIUS you should of been here mate EVERYONES GONE RAVING

SHM: What happened? Are you safe?

ASP: ME yeah but DOMS, shes here for the holiday, shes in deep and James a prat

[story] Suddenly, thoughts of house guests loomed once again. He took the book and headed back downstairs, carefully. The oft overlooked loo off the kitchen might afford more privacy than the obvious refuge of his room. The kitchen light was on, so he left the door slightly ajar. It would let him see, and throw off suspicion as to his location.

ASP: and she put a torture curse on him.

You their mate? Did you see what

SHM: A torture curse? That's ILLEGAL

ASP: Yeah thats what everyones sayin specialy Ron

SHM: But why? Why would she do that?

ASP: Well see she - no - wait, let me start.

Fleur and Rose started opening stuff at midnight

SHM: So did we. Did James try to stop them?

ASP: NAH - I mean he kinda did but he gave up when Molly and Rox did too - try to stop the opening stuff that is. He didnt want be on their side and then Percey joined in and so Mol n Rox gave up and then it was just Perce and then Bill and George said if he said we couldn't WE HAD to open EVERYTHING asap (witch means NOW)

[story] Scorpius rolled his eyes and steeled himself to not correct Severus' punctuation, grammar, or spelling. Steps up the stairs told him someone had gone looking for him.

ASP: hold on bad spot to write

[story] Scorpius briefly wondered how a wizarding keyboard would work. He imagined it would somehow involve enslaving a tiny creature (a pixie or gnome) trained to write out the letters as pins struck different parts of its body. He shook in revulsion. He needed a distraction from the horrid image.

One came via a soft voice in the kitchen. "Scorpius?" It was Mother. He did not want to go back to tolerating Samantha's presence, but he did not want to offend or worry his mother either.

He said from the darkness, "I'm all right, I gave Severus a message book and we're messaging," he reassured her.

"Right then, let me know if - let me know when I can tuck you in, or, just talk." The concern was clear even through the slight opening. She'd invited Samantha, and he'd made his mother feel guilty when he stormed off. Scorpius was about to stand and leave when the writing started back up.

ASP: So everybody got up and opened their stuff but Vic. Teddy was just bein nice an watched bit but then he left and James was - wait, no - DOM said she saw James was gone and she looked for him and he was hiding in the mud room and he had a asyousee - You know that see through someones eye thing? There in the spy sets I got for you an Sam.

[story] Scorpius sighed. He wasn't going to divulge his recent experience with the device and distract from the story.

SHM: YES!

ASP: Cool but Dom took his and looked in it and its right under the room Teds in and

[story] The last word hung there, alone. Unlike online chat, there was no indication as to whether Severus was still writing, deleting, or even still at the book. The pause felt much longer than it was.

ASP: VIC AND TED WERE IN THE SAME ROOM!

[story] Scorpius held his face in his hand before responding.

SHM: Yes, they're adults and -

ASP: ONE ROOM ONE BED MATE! There in there They're in there

SHM: YES! I get it. James was spying on them because they were in bed together.

ASP: Yeah man and Dom used a crewsho on James

[story] It only took a moment for Scorpius to recall that this started with Severus bringing up the torture curse, and therefore what he meant by "crewsho".

SHM: CRUCIO curse? That's EVIL!

ASP: Yeah but not at Durmstrang and Dom had a lesson to use it on someone and she said James was on her shortlist but I asked if that was true and Louis said they didn't really give her a list but its like a hard curse because you have to mean it witch is probly why she picked James

[story] Scorpius slouched. A crack splintered through his image of the heroic Weasley family. How could anyone dare to use such terrible magic? It was one of the three "unforgivable curses". Yet here was Severus excitedly writing about his cousin using this odious spell against his own brother.

ASP: Ron told dad to arrest her. Bill hit Ron. WHOA! Dad has his wand out, didnt use it, he just pushed em apart. Fleurs crying Grans shouting. Hold on.

[story] Scorpius realised this was no longer a recount of past events. Severus was reporting what happened at just that moment.

ASP: Perce says shes good. Theres a treaty thing with Durmstrang (hes Kingslys magicstrate) and Doms doing what she sposed supposed to. Good thing Mums outside with Herm - Shed freak, Mum, I don't know about Herm. Dads reading it. He thinks Perceys right. Hes talking about exchange rules and Durmstrang stuff. Whoa, mum's here. HA! Just in time. Hugo says he wants to go to Durmstrang. Hes smart though. Kinda like your smart, if Durms like a whole school of Slytherins your family must know a bunch about Durmstrang.

[story] He'd reached the end of the page and flipped to the next.

ASP: Ron told no to Hugo. He says its bad enough I ended up-

[story] The writing ceased, the words already written fractured and bunched up, then faded out. Had Severus moved again? Or ... no. It became obvious: _It was bad enough Severus ended up in Slytherin._ Severus had likely torn and crumpled the page at his uncle's (perceived) insult. Yet Scorpius had felt the same way, _Harry Potter's son can_ _ **NOT**_ _be in Slytherin!_ He looked back to the previous page. There was one definitive advantage to growing up a Malfoy: Scorpius knew the keen difference between how you felt, and how other's thought you felt. He did his best to console Severus (now was the time to distract).

SHM: My father wanted to go to Durmstrang, but his mother wouldn't let him. It's true, in one of the books someone compared Durmstrang to an entire school of Slytherins. When you can, you should talk to your cousin Dom and ask her. Just as we cannot give away how to get into our common room, I'm sure she won't tell you WHERE Durmstrang is (that is one of their biggest secrets).

[story] Scorpius heard a phone ring down the hall. It was not his ringtone, but he looked about for his mobile anyway. It might have been Severus trying to call (though he had a hard time imagining Severus going far enough outside from the magical interference of the Weasley family home to find a signal).

SHM: I know they often use a ship (it's similar to a 16th century galleon - Liverpudlians know our ships), but I don't know if that's the only method of international transport or if it is their version of the Express.

[story] From the steps and the sound of her voice, his mother had taken the call. "Wait- I don't- calm down! Yes, we received several books, from you, from - Yes! We sent Severus one, too - _A Portrait in Black_ , about the Black family - no. No, I have no idea what they gave each other." Though she had tried to maintain her calm, the agitation was clear.

"What's going on? Who is that?" Draco's voice echoed off the wood walls and floors of the hall. "You found Scorpius?"

"Is it Lila? Wait, Black family, Sev?" Samantha must have been shortly behind. Her presence pushed Scorpius to close the door.

Astoria whispered to start, but it carried easily down the narrow passage, "He's fine, he's in the kitchen loo. It's Ginny Potter, on some mirror-to-phone connection. She's going off about the Black book and attacking her family." Scorpius' mother sounded insulted. "I don't want to speak to her. I'm going to tend to the wrapping paper."

And speaking of paper, something odd happened to the message book. Black patterns creeped in at the edge, then swept across. Scorpius turned back and saw the same process over and over. It was confusing. Certainly Severus couldn't draw so fast, much less on every page. And the text itself wasn't erased, indeed, only Severus' lines were changed at all. They became grey, and crackled, as if the words themselves ...

"Missus Potter?" Draco paused to listen. His heavy footsteps put him in the kitchen. "No, I did not. No - it WHAT?" Then Draco yelled, "SCORPIUS!" He was so loud the metal pots rang.

But Scorpius hardly noticed. The words, the pages, they had been burned, the book itself must have been thrown in a fire.

The door flew open. Draco's eyes quickly fell upon Scorpius' message book, the pattern blackening anywhere Severus' words had been. He snatched it from his son. "You-" he gasped. His father's shock was quickly replaced with rage, "YOU gave Ginny Weasley's son a book that writes in itself?!" Scorpius hadn't thought of it that way, it wasn't quite accurate. And it didn't matter anymore, the book - she had - "Do you have any **idea** what this looks like? Have I not made it clear to you what they think of us? YOUR HERO? HIS FAMILY? EVERY witch and wizard in the world!"

"Draco!" Astoria's voice was sharp and clear, but Scorpius didn't hear her.

Mr Malfoy held up the book as evidence, "Do you see what he's given Potter's boy?"

"Time to book," Samantha said in a calm possessed by no one else at the moment. She seized Scorpius' hand and yanked him up and out the rear door.

He was so fazed he did not even think to offer resistance, he could hardly breathe. From the yard, he heard his mother shout, "DRACO!"

The frigid air stung Scorpius' skin and throat, but all he could think of was his father yelling: his face gone red, his neck tight and rigid. Even worse, his father's voice had not been steady and measured, something Scorpius took comfort from in his family's private life; It was that twisted and cruel drawl Mr Malfoy normally reserved for outsiders, to taunt and ridicule them. Was that his _real_ voice? Was that the monster he'd described himself as? Was the father Scorpius thought he knew the role, and this was the true Draco Malfoy?

Scorpius didn't know why, but they were outside. They'd run down the alley, out a gate, and turned, through another gate and ... where? They went around a small work van and - why were they climbing a fence? The ground was ice cold and rough through his slippers, the bars of the fence even worse. This was someone else's yard. They were ... it had to be Grace, it wasn't Mill or Park, the streets that ran either side of the neighbourhood. But was it Grace? Scorpius couldn't tell. Samantha had gotten him lost. "What are you doing? Where- **why** are we running?"

Samantha cocked her head back, "Uh, your dad went nuclear, and your mom can go dragon."

"He did not go 'nuclear'!" Scorpius swallowed as he tried to think up a rebuttal, "He - he, I - She wouldn't -" The tears burned into his cheeks and froze in streaks. He didn't want to cry in front of her. He couldn't stop.

Samantha scoffed, "You're actin' like it's the first time your dad's ever yelled." Scorpius choked back a sob. She continued, "And judgin' from that performance, this ain't nothin' new."

Scorpius managed to hiccough out, "It's the - the first time - he's yelled - yelled at _me_."

Samantha snorted and shook her head. She must have come to her senses as to how late it was, that they were out in public, or perhaps suddenly acting calm was some attempt to be as snide as possible, "Must be nice."

His father was infuriated at him, possibly fighting with his mother, and she thought it was "nice"? Scorpius took his frustration out on her, "We're not all polite 'cheerio's and tea times, dammit! What do you know about us anyway?!"

She stared at him a moment. A long trail of breath streamed from her nostrils, "Not much. I live alone with my mother when I'm not a ward of the state. And my father died before I was born. A week with you all has been like binge living a breakfast cereal ad." Her face tightened slightly as she leaned towards him. She repeated her previous words emphatically, " **Must - be - nice.** "

He couldn't talk to her, be near her. Not her, not now, he wouldn't risk feeling any sympathy for such an arrogant troublemaker. She was probably lying anyways. Scorpius looked around for a clue as to where they were. The houses were red and cream, but in the yellow street lights they were all just variations of grey. The Ford was there, one of three, maybe four such cars on the street, and two of them were silver ... -ish. None of the other cars stood out. Maybe the work truck? Was it the plumbing parts truck that was on their street, or was that the next street up and the locksmith lived on theirs? Most of the house numbers were obscured by shadows and decorations. Even some of the Muslims put up Christmas decor to better blend in. It did all look the same: the mix of red and white townhouses (even the colors were difficult to distinguish in the yellow streetlights), the similar middle-class cars parked halfway on the pavement. Not even the black, metal fences alternated with short, painted brick walls did enough to differentiate the barren cement "yards".

Samantha clutched herself and sat against one such wall, "So what set him off?"

What a perfectly appropriate question at the perfectly inappropriate time. There they were, in slippers and bedclothes, shivering against the cold in the lamplit haze of the late night. Why should he tell her? He answered against his better judgment, "I gave Severus a messaging book."

Samantha rocked her head back and raised her eyebrows as if considering the issue, "Those are for muggle relatives, who can't use mirrors or gateway comms."

She should not use such terms in public. Even if they were the only ones on the road, more than a few of the houses had their lights on. Scorpius didn't know what "gateway comms" meant, but he wasn't going to give her any opportunity to think he was stupid, "Electronics, mobiles don't work at the Potter home, nor at - at his grandparent's. And we - I can't afford a mirror, certainly not that kind of mirror." Once he started to speak, Scorpius' thoughts poured out, "I shouldn't have bought it. I should have known better. I did know better. They, the books, they were just like the diary, small and black, but there were these inserts, different covers, teams and creatures and ... school houses. I picked the Hogwarts cover for mine, and the Slytherin one for Severus. He likes that we're in the same house." All he had to say was said. Scorpius wished Severus had been right, that there was some magical way to turn back time, to fix what had been done. He sat on the cold pavement and pressed his face into his legs. Minutes passed as he wept.

Samantha offered confidently, "You tell me what this has to do with a diary, and I'll tell you why Sev ended up with a bare black book."

 _What was she after?_ More often than not, her aim was others' grief. She mocked Gabble, but so did Severus (as did Scorpius ... in private). She didn't pay attention in Charms, Transfiguration, or Alchemy. And while she scored well in Transfiguration and Alchemy, she was nothing but a distraction in Charms (and History, and Creatures, and Herbology, and Divination, and Muggle Studies). The only course in which Scorpius didn't mind her distractions was Flight, where he struggled just to keep up with the rest of the class (literally). The only course she behaved seriously in was Defence.

He'd seen her make such challenges before, though. It may have been just to show off, but she'd been right more often than not. "The mind control diary. My -," Scorpius sighed out his nostrils before he could admit this shameful detail, "My grandfather planted the diary in Ginevere Weasley's bag in error, he meant to put it in Harry Potter's belongings instead."

"The basilisk conspiracy," Samantha stated dismissively. She knew that much, but of course she had to make it sound foolish.

"It fit the legend; it made sense at the time."

Witherspoon disagreed, "Pbbbt, yeah, right. It was what, three students, a cat, and a ghost?"

Scorpius tried, but failed, to cut her off, "Yes, but -"

"When only the ghost itself makes sense. A puddle, camera, ghost, and a mirror as filters would add up to one hellacious series of coincidences, but the lack of chewed on corpses, bits or pieces, or any sign of what would be an ancient and GI-ANT monster, its lair, or, ahem, wastes, is beyond freakin' magical. It's beyond miraculous. It's minotaur cuh-cah." Samantha rolled her eyes.

Though Scorpius agreed, he felt defensive none-the-less, "Well, that's obvious now, but not when paralyzed people were turning up every week. Blood spattered messages on the walls!"

Samantha shrugged, "Then why didn't they close the school?" She mocked a British accent (poorly), "Oh yes, children, there's a killer monster somewhere on campus, oh, and don't neglect your midterms!"

Scorpius had wondered the same thing himself. And had learned the answer, but he did not want to admit that his grandfather had cajoled and extorted the board of governors to keep Hogwarts open during the crisis. He had, of course, been able to guarantee the safety of certain children, while making implied threats against others. "It doesn't matter, it all ended when Mister Potter figured it out and stopped her, even as Missus Potter tried to kill him."

Samantha raised her eyebrows, "And you gave their kid a little black book that he writes in and it writes back to him ... almost exactly how the diary worked."

And there it was: Samantha living down to his expectations. Yet he had fulfilled his side of the bargain, "And that's why Severus took the cover off his book? He wanted to remind his mother of one of the most traumatic moments of her life?"

Samantha made an even more exaggerated roll of her eyes and sighed, "Nah." She huffed another tiny fog, "He doesn't think of any of that as _real._ He took all the Slytherin stuff off to keep it away from his brother, or any of the other snake haters in his family. So they wouldn't taunt him about it, or, worse, snatch the gift ..." She sighed, "the gift he got from his best friend." Her tone was practically considerate, "He didn't want to risk losing something from you."

 _Was it that simple?_ Scorpius thought back to when James Potter had chased them through the castle, the attempted attacks in the Great Hall, the fight at Hagrid's (though Severus had been tight-lipped about the details of that incident). Scorpius should have known. He wanted to blame his carelessness on finding the message book at the Weasley store. Certain that if Mrs Potter's own brothers were selling it, she had reconciled with that terrible time in her past. Family should be counted on to care that much. To - to what? Not yell, or terrify? To come looking for you in the cold dark night? "I ... I should go home." Scorpius started to the central street to find a sign. The few house numbers exposed were the same as his street, but he couldn't be certain with so many obscured. He was lost, only blocks from his own home.

The door across from them opened, "And if I find one hair out of place on his head, Draco -" Astoria fixed her coat about her as she admonished her husband.

"Mother?" Scorpius could hardly believe it. How had he let himself think he was lost, when he was barely meters from his own home. He ran across the street. Astoria turned at the sound, saw him, and lifted him, wrapped him into her coat, and hugged him at once.

"As I promised, their scent hadn't gone far." Sara Skein's hard voice sounded eerily like a female version of Mr Malfoy (albeit in an American accent).

Astoria lowered her son, looked him over, and reassured him, "Everything is all right. The level headed adults involved have agreed that no one intended any harm." There was a tinge of venom in her voice, but why? "You can even ask Mister Potter himself, he wanted to speak to you personally."

Mr - no - **Chief Auror,** Slayer of Voldemort, the-boy-that-lived Harry Potter wanted to speak to Scorpius?

Scorpius would have easily forgotten the events that had found him outside their home minutes ago, if not for his mother's reminder, "Your father wants to apologise first, though." Astoria kissed Scorpius on the cheek and guided him inside.

Mr Malfoy sat in the hall, Miss Skein on the stairs with Samantha (who was oddly, comfortably leaning into this woman she otherwise seemed to have disliked). Mr Malfoy looked dismal, his hands held before him, and his stare darting about, "An apology under duress isn't worth -"

"Draco!" Mrs Malfoy was irate at his apparent reluctance.

But Scorpius recognised it as one of his father's considered explanations and responded accordingly, "As if one were forced to apologise to placate a wealthy client."

Draco smirked weakly in satisfaction, "Quite, but ..." He sighed, "I truly am sorry to you, Son. I let myself be carried away by the past, by incidents you were not ... even alive for." Scorpius smiled back, and took his father's hand. He squeezed back in response. Mr Malfoy was not given to hugs and kisses or any such displays of affection. A simple squeeze of the hand from his father meant the world to Scorpius, though.

Someone pounded at the door from outside. As entertained as Scorpius would be at the thought of Samantha being left in the cold she'd dragged him out to, she was still on the stairs with her chaperone at her side. Astoria gave Draco a sidelong glance and short shake of the head. She was not going to trust him to speak to whomever was at the door. The man was tall, dark haired and slightly tan, a much shorter, mousy woman behind him. Both wore long coats and scarves, but that was not to be unexpected considering the weather. Draco made out another irregularity first, "If this is about the book, we've already talked it out with Potter." That his father knew they had something to do with Mr Potter made Scorpius curious. Did his father know these people or -?

No, they had their wands out. The man held his across the palm as if to better conceal it. "I have no i-dee-a what you are speaking to, Mister Malfoy. We are here to check upon Samantha Aziza Witherspoon." He had a foreign accent, possibly Spanish.

Astoria stepped aside to allow room for Miss Skein to approach the door through the crowded hall, "I registered our location as soon as it was confirmed. We would leave long before any lunar issues arose."

 _Lunar? Could Samantha be a-_ Scorpius' thoughts raced: Of course, she was moody and argumentative, even worse just before the full moon. She sometimes took a special medication _during_ the full moon. She'd run off from the last Quidditch match before the night of a full moon. Skein was some special guardian and was more concerned with others' safety than her charge's. How had Scorpius missed it? He'd read _Faces of the Phase_ about Remus Lupin and Fenrir Greyback, the quite divergent werewolves from the Wizarding Wars. And he knew American werewolves would all attend their government run school. It was so obvious.

"This is she." The man said cryptically. His meaning became all too clear.

 _"Expecto Patronus!"_ the witch in the rear called out. A shimmering, silver porcupine leapt from her wand at Sara Skein. She crumpled down the steps, striking the ground with with a thump. The patronus lingered on her chest, smoke rising from where its paws met her clothes. Scorpius had never heard of a _Patronus_ doing such a thing.

Witherspoon shrieked as she leapt down the stairs, "MOM!" The man nodded his head sharply towards Samantha. The witch flicked her wand, and sent the patronus at Samantha. Astoria reached out to stop the girl, but not before the ephmeral animal passed through his mother's arm and bore into its target. Samantha yelped and slumped atop the already downed woman- her mother?

Draco jumped at the strange wizard, but the other man was faster and sidestepped, _"Petrificus totalus!"_ Mr Malfoy was frozen, the wand inches from this face, as he was held in place by his attacker. The wizard spoke apologetically, "This is nothing about you, Señor Malfoy. This is about the murder of Garrick Ollivander." He made a curt wave and Mr Malfoy was realeased. The other man knelt down to where Samantha lay across Skein. He traced along her neck and yanked away the black strip. While the claim of wandmaker Ollivander's death was surprising, it was nothing compared to the shock of what was revealed before Scorpius' eyes, in his own home no less.

Sara Skein laid out in the hallway, her face and form had changed, no longer human. The resemblance to Samantha was quite clear now. Their scales and horns differed somewhat (Skein's twisted up and back while Samantha's curled down and forward). And while wings edged out from beneath Skein, the girl's shirt concealed any such appendage. Scorpius' previous "obvious" conclusion could not have gone further astray. Samantha wasn't a werewolf, she was a demon.


	9. Chapter 41-45

[Act III]

Chapter 41 The Devil in the Details

Chief Auror Harry Potter

"Who authorised you to serve a warrant by ambush?"

"Mister Potter, it was not -"

"Mateo, did you or did you not identify then _immediately_ attack your suspect?"

Ygnasio briefly sighed and bit his lips. "It was the prudent course of action, sir," he respectfully defended himself.

Harry was more concerned about what had been done than how it was said, "It was prudent to attack an eleven year-old girl? Right after flooring her -" he hesitated at the newly learned information, "her _mother_ in front of her?"

"They are demons, sir." Mateo fought back against the ire in his voice.

Potter made no such effort in return, "The girl's a cambion, a half-demon, like Merlin! Would you have reacted to Merlin the same way?"

"No, sir."

"Then what -"

Auror Mateo cut off his superior, "Had I been tasked with serving a murder warrant against Maestro Merlin, I would have enlisted an army instead of a single Patronus-capable Auror." The rebuttal left the room silent.

Percy took the opportunity to prevent any further conflict. "Let's shelf this matter until later. The Chief Auror and I need to discuss the particulars first." He nodded to Ygnasio, and the visiting Auror reluctantly accepted the suggestion to leave.

The stress of it all got to Harry. He pushed off from his desk and ran his hands through his hair. He growled, but said nothing intelligible.

Percy mused, "At what point did I become the voice of reason, Harry?"

"Perce ..." Harry groaned. He pulled himself back to the desk and picked up the warrant, "When did we start arresting little girls for murder?"

Percy's forehead wrinkled and he emphasised, "Little demon girls, Harry. I know, 'half'-demon, but her being a cambion's really not helping your argument. Mister Mateo isn't just doing things the Argentine way, I would have done the same thing in his robes." Potter didn't have a response. The Magistrate changed the discussion (slightly), "I'm sorry you're just finding out about this now. The Minister, it's -"

Harry rifled through the various documents of the case. He answered weakly, "It's OK, Percy. I know Kingsley, and Henry, and -" Harry hesitated, "It's politics. It's an 'international' issue, they signed off on it, and you had to bite your tongue."

"I only just found out, too, Harry." Percy admitted. "And I was upset. Especially when I discovered who else already knew."

Harry shook his head, "Above our heads."

Percy shook his head, "The Unspeakables knew."

"Percy -"

"If those gravel-voiced prats are supposed to be the MI-6 to your MI-5, why are you being kept out of the loop?" Percy rarely became angry, annoyed was about as far as he ever got.

And in turn, Harry tried to defuse his own temper, "We're more like Scotland Yard and they, the Unspeakables, are more like MI-5 _and_ 6." Harry looked Percy in the eye, "And without them, I wouldn't be here to explain the difference."

Weasley calmed, but he hadn't bought in entirely, "McMannis might be -"

Harry's temper flared momentarily, "No, how can you say that?"

Guilt put the Magistrate on the defensive, "Harry, I -"

"Don't ever say that to Neville, or Hannah, or anyone who _knows_ Neville. You know, really, just never say anything like that again. McMannis' bad judgment is what got McMannis killed. The Unspeakables' information put us there, and we needed to be there, and Neville ... Neville still blames himself."

Percy sighed, "Sorry, I know -"

"Just let it drop." Harry picked up a mixed batch of parchments and computer-printed papers, "What got you to sign off on the warrant?"

Weasley mocked himself, "Actually, the Minister's self-righteous peon might've gotten it right this time." He picked out a hand-written parchment, "Original complaint, more a concern really, oddly enough, came from Astoria Malfoy. One personal owl each, to Hogsmeade and London, no response. She went in person to London, no answer, sent an employee to Hogsmeade, likewise no one there. Two official exchange owls, response required, nothing. She contacted the business board on November thirty. They sent another owl, nothing. They knocked on the doors, thank-you-very-much like that hadn't been done already. They forwarded the complaint to your office on the day before Christmas Eve. A simple locuter produced nothing. Thorough border check turned up nothing, so he must still be in the British Isles, nothing on any of the Commonwealth routes. Comprehensive locuter triangulation put him in Diagon Alley last, close to if not in his shop. The evidence wasn't completely processed until late in the evening of the twenty-fourth."

Potter bemoaned, "We weren't contacted because of the holiday."

Weasley shrugged, "No one was going to bother you, as rarely as you ever take holiday. It's not as if you personally were going to change anything. Initial retrocognition put the time of death over a month prior."

Harry easily recalled what else happened then, "How did we get it down to the day of the assault on Missus Malfoy and the girl?"

Percy added, "And two justified homicides. Ron nearly put himself before the wand by threatening Draco that day."

"Ron almost acted like he remembered being an Auror," Harry said wistfully.

There was a long pause. Percy finally cut through the unsettling silence, "Right then, Nusbaum's muggle work got us to the thirtieth."

"Forensics," Harry corrected.

"Right that, Forensics," Percy stated confidently. "You know they used flies and maggots to confirm the month?"

"Percy."

Weasley raised his eyebrows, "Sounds like Trelawney's kind of thing to me. Anyway, Nusbaum agreed it was two to three months, right off, then he came up with an exact date. It was too long for a residual sweep. And from that other case, we know the young cambion was fitted for a wand that same day. Odd that she and Missus Malfoy agreed Ollivander was going to custom make a wand. I thought the wand found its master."

Harry picked up a parchment he'd set aside, "Unspeakables have nothing on their wand tracking network, but considering this happened at Ollivander's ..." Harry sighed. "At a wand shop. We'll have to inspect the entire inventory."

Percy's eyes widened slightly and his head turned to the side a moment, "Right, over two thousand wands, easy enough." He shook his head, straining to read the document in his brother-in-law's hand, "That's blank, Harry." The Chief Auror raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Percy continued, "Yes." He gathered up several pictures strewn about the desk. Each paper-clipped pair was a full-color still photo on top of a black and white moving picture. Each wizard shot showed the inspectors' hands and feet just in frame, holding measurement references up to the victim and his injuries (as well as the flash from the muggle camera). Percy's voice raised, "This is where Nusbaum's training pays off."

The Chief Auror knew he'd have to examine the pictures again, more thoroughly, but appreciated the temporary reprieve, "Oh?"

Percy laid down a printout, "A relapse done on the wound to the midsection." Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. "But, it didn't work. It did, however, nudge Nusbaum to check for any unusual foreign material in the wounds: demonic ..." He paused to read an unfamiliar word, "key-rah-tin, whatever that is, it matched his samples on file."

Harry held his hand up as if to scratch, _"Keratin:_ fingernails, hair, skin, horns or hooves in this case. Why didn't that come up in the magical inspection?"

The Magistrate stood straight and slapped his thigh with the files he had in hand, "We aren't normally on the look out for demons. They were banished from Great Britain over two hundred years ago. And it _did_ , in a manner, the relapse error is why Nusbaum checked for demon material specifically." He huffed, "When was I, the Magistrate, you, the Chief Auror, going to find out there was a demon at Hogwarts? That she and her offspring were living right across the hall from your son. And here I was worried about Albus being in there with Malfoy and Lafayette."

Harry took a deep breath and blew it out. He warned sharply, "Percy."

Percy abruptly changed from anger to guilt, "I know, I know! I am the first to question my feelings on these things, Harry, that's why I didn't say anything in front of Albus. I'm sorry Ron wasn't as self-aware at Mother's."

Harry nodded to his brother-in-law, "Don't beat yourself up forever, Percy. You may not be the most popular Weasley uncle, but you are the most reliable."

Percy scoffed, "I do my best."

Harry didn't want to think about the chain of events Ron had set off. He knew he'd upset Severus, but what about Ginny? The Malfoys? Their little boy especially. Harry had long ago figured out that no one should blame a son for his father's actions. He blew off the distraction for the criminal case at hand. "Ygnasio already got barrier class Spell-o-tape securing the scene. No one in or out without his, now _my_ say. I ordered two Aurors onsite, at least one outside while the other's on inventory."

Percy responded, "Ollivander is - _was_ popular, and will be sorely missed. People will demand action, that someone be held accountable. You know the Minister appreciates your attention to this."

"Just surrendering to the politics." Harry sighed, "We arrest, we investigate." He held up the worst of the photographs, "We hope we get it right."

Sam

However humans felt when they were stunned, getting _"patronused"_ as a changeling had to be ten times worse. Well, "cambion" seeing as she was in England, home of Merlin, the most famous of her kind. Or _was_ Sam still in England? She was in a cell: a wooden cot, stone walls and floors, and wrought-iron bars. She didn't need to check her arm to know she'd been given her shot. Then she remembered she wasn't the only victim, "Mom?"

"Watch your words." Her mother's tone was measured and calm.

And oddly echoed and muffled. Sam pulled at the cot rails to sit up. There was a bench against a bare wall outside the cell. She struggled to twist and stand. Her effort was cut short as she reached out to balance herself. Sam paused to turn her hand over, to observe her smooth, black claws, reddish skin, and the few silver-blue scales along the base of the back of her hand. She couldn't help but comment aloud, "The jig is up." Sam almost expected a response from her mother. Aware of her surroundings again, Sam approached, but did not touch, the bars. She appeared to be one cell in and maybe three cells from the end. At the end itself was a thick iron-banded, wooden door with a tiny, barred window.

Her mother's face was framed by the window, her pupils a dull crimson. She watched something beyond the hall and held a warning finger to her lips.

 _Can you hear me, Mom?_ Sam thought. Then she realized the medication would prevent "speaking" like that. It would also make any magic by Sam a monumental challenge. Maybe if she had woken up earlier, before the dampening effects set in. Even if she had a wand, she'd only be capable of half the magic power of a human. Well, technically forty-seven percent or so, but that was a moot point. Between her mother's comments and constant stare, Sam was curious, "You got a plan?"

"Skein's" eyes burned brighter for a moment as she focused her glare on Sam instead. "The best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley." Then she concentrated again on the hall's end.

Sam figured out what the previous warning had meant. The answer came before the clues could be tallied: her mother was bound by a ward of compulsion. She would not be able to act against their jailors. The poem came back to her, and Sam translated the ending phrase aloud, "Often go awry." Another effect of the ward would be to force her mother to tell the truth. The drug weakened Sam's ability to control what she said, but it didn't change what she wanted to say, or in this case, ask, "So, was this all you hoped for?"

The demoness's eyes flicked and narrowed on her daughter. "No," she stated plainly.

 _What are you doing?_ Sam challenged herself. Why push their chances? To show off? Or to extract the solution to some unresolved mystery from her mother? "Are you all right?"

Her eyes did not shift, "Physically, yes."

"And emotionally?"

"I am worried."

"About the terms of your contract?"

It was a low blow. Even in those reptilian eyes, Sam could see her mother soften, "Worried what might become of you."

"Telling you, they've been buzzing for a minute now, but I can't figure a word of it." It was a Englishman's voice.

 _"Awdah al-killam."_ The spell was stated unconfidently by another person beyond Sam's sight. Regardless of how the caster felt about it, the effects were obvious. A red shimmer pushed back to the cell at the hall's end, while a previously undetected hum went silent. "Tell her, this to the mother, to cease in this the next time. You are not intended to be alone." The second voice was not British, yet somehow familiar. Sam couldn't place it.

"Well, Teddy had to, I mean, you know."

As if her mother could still read Sam's mind, she identified and taunted the new arrival, "Don't be too harsh, Sheriff Mateo, your people are, after all, only human."

Mateo stood at the hall's end, a wand in one hand, an unfolded parchment in the other. "It is Auror as I serve in Great Britain. Have you a problem with humans?"

The challenge pleased her, "Do you take slight at the insults of chickens and goats?"

As likely intended, the response riled up the Auror, "You mean to say we are nothing but prey to you?"

She toyed with him, "Are the words you pray what you mean? Or are such words too mean for your prey?"

He shook off his passing confusion, _"Mufflato!"_ Mr. Mateo was much more familiar with that spell. He turned and spoke - more accurately, he turned and _seemed_ to speak. His mouth opened, he gestured, but Sam could no longer hear anything from beyond the short passageway.

Another man arrived, not quite as tall as Mateo, lighter hair, but **much** whiter otherwise. An even more glaring difference was his decidedly normal dress. He wore a modern suit vice a robe and he carried a briefcase. He waved off the Auror and watched impatiently until another man, and a woman besides, also left. Alone, he patted about the air at the hall's end. He appeared to sigh and heave, then step forward. "Did you get any of that?"

Sam shook her head as her mother stated evenly, "No."

Where as Georgia Stansfield had some measure of Australian influence on her accent, it sounded as if this man was born and lived most of his life there, "I'm your solicitor, Robert Stansfield."

 _Shortest. Mystery. Ever._ Sam knew, vaguely, that a solicitor was like a lawyer, but what she didn't know, she couldn't help but ask, "Are you the public defender?"

The concept amused him briefly, "Ha! No." He sat on the bench across from Sam and opened his briefcase in his lap.

"He works for Mister Malfoy," Sam's mother provided all-too-knowingly.

"Well, for you, both of you, in this matter, actually. One Samantha Aziza Witherspoon and Sakeen A- Sakeena ... how do you say that?"

"Don't mind the Roman spelling, it should be 'Sakeen Ahs-sahira', but Sakeena will suffice," she offered.

He nodded as he opened his case and went through some papers, "Got good news and bad news, which you want first?"

"Other than my daughter being charged and incarcerated for murder?"

Sam was glad for the side-effects of the medication at the moment. She could act like her mother's comment hadn't sunk in, "Give the good news first. It's been studied, people take bad news better when they already know the good."

Mr. Stansfield evaluated Sam. She was probably way too calm in his estimation, and her statement likely came across odd regardless. He acquiesced, "Well then, I've already gathered all the pertinent laws regarding demons and cambions in the UK and had a chance to go over them."

Sakeena interrupted with dissatisfaction, "And the bad news is the Wizengamot _knows_ you've already gathered all their laws pertinent to demons and cambions in the UK." Stansfield nodded in resignation.

Sam admitted her confusion, "Huhn? I don't get it."

The lawyer explained, "It looks like not only you, both of you, but the Malfoys as well, knew you would be in need of a legal defence. That they knowingly allowed you two into their home doesn't speak well of them if that's the case, though that's something they're quite accustomed to."

"Accustomed to?" Sam was scared, even if she couldn't express it properly. Astoria had already been tried for the deaths of those two men. She'd been found "innocent" (vice "not guilty"), but seeing as that was odd (to Sam) could they take that back and try her again? "Is Astoria going to be in trouble?"

Stansfield shuffled some papers together, "I can't say. That's the trouble being one of the only solicitors in the wizarding 'world'." He sighed. That the magic community defined itself as a separate entity obviously annoyed him.

Sakeena's voice was cold, "Explain the procedures for this."

He tilted his head, "Different. This is different from standard British common law, I assume far different from whatever goes on in the US."

"I don't understand, there's a difference between magic and normal law here?" Sam was uncertain.

Mr. Stansfield nodded, "Yeah, everyone's working to get it caught up, but everything new creates a - aww, yeah, nevermind. Either way, due to da holiday, not much will happen today, mostly informing the interested parties what's going to happen. Tomorrow'll be exchange of information, then the trial starts the day after that."

"WHAT?" Medication or not, that earned a strong reaction from Sam.

"Well, not many legal cases, even fewer criminal ones." He went on, "It gets worse. Disclosure here is a tidal wave of rubbish. I _can_ represent both of you, but I can't speak on your behalf before the court. Don't worry, already got a barrister _cho-sen."_ He smirked at the last word briefly. "Nah, she doesn't think it's funny neither."

"I thought you were our solicitor-lawyer or whatever. What was funny?" Sam was much more mellow on this point.

Her mother caught the joke, "Missus Sun, first name Cho. Be a darling and don't comment on her being Chinese-Scottish. She may not be as understanding as her husband."

"Met Winston, huhn? As a patient, aww, client? He's gonna claim doctor/patient confidentiality, but the Wizengamot's gonna expect you to tell."

Sam countered quickly, "What if I don't testify?"

Robert Stansfiled blew out a deep breath as he sat straight and set his hands on the edges of his case. "That's ... going to go over poorly. You, aww, if you do that, they're going to enter a judgment that you know something would incriminate you and that you are therefore most likely guilty, if not of this charge, then something, and they're gonna convict on that. At least we have a framework in place, tha particulars ..."

"What about -?" Sam cut off at her thoughts of American laws. Her entire knowledge of British laws came down to a few movies, comedies no less. Even if they were accurate, that didn't mean they applied to this as of yet undefined British, magic legal system.

Sakeena filled in the hanging silence, "Defence testifies first, is rebuttal permitted?" Her accent had shifted ever-so-slightly British.

The solicitor rocked his head left and right, "Permitted, well, yes, defence leads testimony. And we'll need to include as much as possible, because while rebuttal might be permitted, it isn't always. Cattermole supports it, but there's no guarantee. It used to be worse."

Sam recalled her lessons form History and Civics, "So, this is why we rebelled?"

Her mother's gaze narrowed, "Those motivations were more economic than judicial."

Stansfield explained, "And this isn't even modern British standards. Regular courts I could represent you, one of you, disclosure is mostly relevant, rebuttals are the norm, and the judge and jury are separate ent'ies. Hate ta tell ya, but it's a work in progress."

Cold and unfazed, Sakeena uncannily gave voice to Sam's thoughts, "So who _is_ our judge, jury, and executioner?"

All that day was spent in yet another stone room, Sam being questioned by Stansfield and by Sun's assistant/investigator, Padma Patil. Sam's initial satisfaction at a similarly not-a-pasty-white guy working on the case was soured by the smell of alcohol on the woman's breath. Then again, it was a holiday and she probably hadn't expected to be called in for a murder investigation (but then again it wasn't NOON yet). What hurt Sam's mood the most wasn't even her medication, it was being separated from her mother once again.

The next day was no better. Sam was anxious to know what was going on. She wanted to be included in her own case, but the adults felt otherwise. Except for a few reassurements, she didn't know what was being used against her. Sadly, she found out that was the point.

"They throw in every action the Ministry has taken, anything they've discovered or even suspect. And their list of witnesses might well be everyone to ever lay eyes on you." Mrs. Sun was indeed Chinese-Scottish (or Scottish-Chinese, Sam wasn't sure which). "Missus Malfoy is no surprise, and I doubt will be much help to them. The previous case firmly establishes where you were and when, but there's a gap between your flying out of Knocturn Alley, and appearing in the Ministry lobby."

Sam prompted, "That's when I was with D, with Mister Dursley. He took me to King's Cross and ... I ... don't think anyone else would've been able to ID me."

The lady lawyer certainly sounded confident, "The prosecution put a O-S on Mister Dursley, but it should be O-X, an 'Obliviate Exclusion', not an 'Obliviate Subject'. His cousin's a wizard after all. We'll clear that up in court."

Sam cued in on the trivial issue, "That's right, Mister Potter is D's cousin."

Mrs. Sun smirked, "You don't have to tell me."

There was an inside joke there that Sam knew she had missed. And she knew she looked stupid just staring blankly, but what choice did she have? "Can I get off my meds for the trial?" _Yay for verbal diarrhea!_

The change in subject resulted in a flipping of papers and parchments. "Good point. We want you as normal as possible on the stand. We can't - we don't want to glamour your appearance and give the prosecution something to attack, but we do want you to express how you felt. Sound human if you can't look human. Human ..." Mrs. Sun trailed off.

Sam had to describe the effects, the limitations, and the origin of her pills. Mrs. Sun understood better than Sam had expected of anyone from the nearly anti-science British magic society. The barrister's explanation made sense, "Neither I nor my husband can discuss our clients with each other, but I can tell him what rules and regulations I've run afoul, and he can tell me how the medications he prescribes work, so, this isn't my first brush with chemistry."

Sam wondered how, in the cloistered "British Wizarding World", that would play out, "Do you two ever end up across from each other in court?"

The woman looked much younger as she rolled her eyes, "Across, alongside, both!" She snickered at the thought. "We've too few lawyers (who'd believe that?) and only the one psychiatrist in our little community. Winston Sun, MD - Muggle Doctor. Is there anything you can do about-," Mrs. Sun traced spirals by her head.

"The horns? Should I dye them black to blend in, or white for innocent?" They shared a brief chuckle. Sam wished the rest of the day was as lighthearted. The trial would start the next day, and without her mother by her side, Sam was not so confident it would turn out well.

Ch. 42 Take a Stand

Sam

"Do I have to swear to tell the truth, or can I affirm?" Sam wasn't quite clear on the semantics of the two terms, but was wary none-the-less.

Mrs. Sun gave a sidelong glance as she faced the high standing benches across from them, "Is swearing going to be a problem?"

Sam scrunched up her face in doubt, "It ... yeah, probably, quite likely, definitely."

"Then affirm, don't give the prosecutor any snitches to snatch."

A door opened behind and below the benches. An ancient crone stepped up to the center seat, itself extended just beyond the others. A dark screen followed after her, sliding over the wood. Footsteps came after. Human forms were cloaked behind it, fourteen or so.

The lady in the stood in front of her seat. She looked somewhere around two hundred, her clothes only half as old. By her tone, she was not happy, "In the name of Merlin, the founders, and the crown, I, Seraphina Bones, represent the Wizengamot as Head Warlock in the matter of the Wizarding World versus the demonic half-breed known as Samantha Aziza Witherspoon in the -"

"Point of order, the Wizengamot calls upon the name of Merlin but does not note him as a 'demonic half-breed', nor note among the founders that the esteemed Rowena Ravenclaw was the illegitimate child of muggles," Mrs. Sun managed to make her interruption professional. The Head Warlock and prosecutor each took a moment in shock as those gathered in the shadows murmured among themselves. "Name a thing for what it is ..."

The old woman finished what was apparently a quote, "'lest it become something it is not'. Very well, amend the record to show this matter as the Wizarding World versus Samantha Aziza Witherspoon in the murder of Garrick Ollivander. Cho Sun, shall you waive the investigator's inquiry?"

"I'll allow it be set aside."

The old lady didn't like that distinction. "Well then, it is upon you to offer a defence." She and the looming others took their seats.

"Miss Witherspoon to the stand."

The solicitor/barrister thing suddenly made more sense to Sam. She had been worried how the distracted and sometimes abrupt Sun would do in court. Stansfield had come across much more amiable and on task. Yet, not a single question had been asked of a witness and Sam felt like Cho already had them in the lead.

The magistrate spoke, and Samantha repeated after him, "I do solemnly, sincerely, and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." _Better to avoid any lightning, being turned into salt, pillars of flame ..._

To start, Sam just had to confirm what the court already knew: she had met Astoria (Malfoy) at the Hogwarts zoo; they, Skein included, had gone to Rare Reagents, then Ollivander's wand shop; Sam had been "fitted" for her wand; Sara Skein was implicated as Sam's mother; Sam took her medication so she could leave with Astoria to go to the Wizarding Wheezes shop; they went to Rare Reagents first so Astoria could pick up paperwork to deliver to the client (George Weasley); and that was when they met Gregory Goyle, Marcus Dolohov, and Axel Avery.

"How did you defend yourself?"

Sam appreciated Sun's phrasing: "defend yourself", no question as to why she did what she did. "Uh, I shifted into a flame."

Prosecutor Cattermole inquired, "But you claim your medication limits your 'magical expression'."

Sam swallowed. She wanted to get everything precise, "The pills don't do that right away like the shots do. Both cut me off from - from my mother right off, but the magic and emotion suppression stuff take awhile with the pills. It was already messing with - limiting me. And if things get real - the stuff's not hundred percent." She was nervous, so anxious that she'd say something, _anything_ wrong.

Mrs. Sun picked up on that and softened her tone, "Go on Samantha, you shifted into a flame."

"Yeah. I grabbed at his wand, the arm he'd had his wand. I was scared, I wasn't thinking straight, and I remember the Headmaster telling me to go for the wand, and that's what I -"

Cattermole interrupted, "If you weren't thinking straight, how can you be certain?"

Sun jumped in, "Scene investigation supports that Mister Goyle's wand was found, singed, along with his charred wrist and hand. Samantha was under assault by an adult four times her size. It makes sense she was scared, yet her recollection fits the examination of evidence at the scene."

The darkened assembly nodded and mumbled their agreement.

Sam went on to describe her confusion at seeing Astoria as a spitewyrm, and her subsequent panic and flight. The prosecutor remained quiet throughout Sam's recall of waking in the garbage truck, her conversation with Dudley Dursley, their trip to Kings Cross and platform nine and three-quarters, and her reunion with "Skein" and Astoria at the Ministry. She almost wished he would say something, then Sun could shoot him down, and at least Sam would feel like she what she said mattered. She wished her mother could be there.

Unfortunately, that was the next line of questioning. "Why did you and your mother conceal your true nature?" the other lawyer asked.

If not for Sun's preparation, Sam knew she would have bombed this one by saying, "Because people like blaming demons for everything." Instead, she gave the more sympathetic (and less aggressive) answer, "I was bullied when I went to school as a - a cambion back in the states. My mother got me changed to another class, and got the school to let me look human." _And I ground my horns down for today!_

Of course, Sun had prepared herself, too, "And you use a charm to accomplish this. Aren't cambions capable of appearing more human at will?" The day before, the barrister had rattled off several different versions of that question until she had hit on "more human". Sam was annoyed at the woman's persistence then, but saw the importance of it now. She hoped she got her wording right, too, "With practice. But Mom's - Mom would rather - she thinks it's better that I concentrate on my regular studies and elementalism than practice ... at tricking people."

Precise wording or not, the prosecutor pounced, "But that IS what you do, trick people ... into thinking you're human."

Sun didn't save her this time. She had bemoaned not being able to prepare all her witnesses, but she'd readied Sam for this, "'Bout as much as anyone else does by wearing nice clothes and makeup, or magical surgery, using big words, working on their accent ..." The next part was a suggestion by Cho, and Sam was anxious to see its effect, "... or just not telling someone if one of your parents is a muggle."

It worked. Cattermole was briefly (and non-magically) stunned. He, someone close to him, or whoever he cared about, was a "norm-borne" (an American term nowhere near as offensive as "no-maj", or "mudblood" seeing as they were in England). Mrs. Sun had anticipated a line of questions on how long before Astoria knew what Sam and Sara were, how she reacted when she found out, what were the details of the agreement between the US and UK about Sam keeping quiet, about how her appearance would be revealed by a full moon no matter what she did, and the full exent of who her mother was. They'd even prepared to counter the cambion issue with references to Merlin (both of them) and Mother Shipton. None of that happened. Sam didn't think they could have anticipated what did happen.

"It is a demon's nature to deceive. It was clear in 1789, it is clear now: demons pose a threat to mortal lives." It was Mrs. Bones, the Head Warlock.

Just as Cattermole had been silenced a moment before, it now took Sun a moment to respond, "This is 2017, we are no longer at war with the 'colonists', and the matter at hand is a specific accusation against _this_ cambion girl, not demons as a whole."

The old woman sighed in a huff and waved her fingers dismissively. It was unclear whether she intended for Sun to continue or be silent.

The barrister decided to risk it, "Did you feel threatened by Mister Ollivander?"

Sam shook her head, "No."

"Did you have some objection to his actions during your fitting?"

"Yeah." Sam had to be careful, "His measuring tape went, sss, around my chest, it felt - I wasn't ready for it."

"What did you do?"

Sam sighed. She'd felt sort of bad that day for what she'd said. Even worse now, knowing that the man was dead. "I called him a perv, 'cause his hands were shaky and I thought he was excited. But I don't think he'd ever made a wand for a cambion before, and Merlin's was s'possedly a special wand, so that was maybe a big deal for him."

The prosecutor spoke up, "Point of order, the accused may not testify as to the deceased's personal thoughts, only her own."

"Miss Sun," The lady warlock warned.

Cho redirected swiftly, "But _your_ thoughts at the time?"

It wasn't difficult for Sam to express her remorse, "He was just an old guy who didn't have that long to live."

After a moment's pause, Sun's next question came out of left field, "Have you ever killed anyone?'

Sam's eyes popped wide, "No!"

Mrs. Sun continued calmly, "You fought a boy in your common room at Hogwarts, did you kill him?"

Sam was still weirded out and arched an eyebrow accordingly, "No."

"Did you intend to kill him?"

"No." Sam hadn't even thought to tell Sun or ... Stansfield. Of course, Georgia would have told her father what had happened.

"He was larger than you, though. Why did you attack him, but not use magic against him? You used magic against Mister Goyle." While Sun knew where this was going, Cattermole appeared confused.

Sam stopped trying to make reason of it and put her trust in the as-of-yet competent and clever lawyer, "It ... I wasn't afraid at Hogwarts. He ticked me off. He was whining about losing a room, his _private_ room, and called Malfoy 'criminal' for that. I just wanted him to shut up. I didn't really want - I wanted him to shut up."

Miss (Mrs.?) Bones snorted a "hmmph".

Sun hesitated, "So, did you hurt him?"

This didn't sound like it was going the right direction. Sam shook her head, "Not as bad as he messed me up, all I did was scratch his arm. Professor Stalvan waved his wand and it was fine."

The barrister tilted her head, "Not an extensive wound then." She held out a parchment of immaculate handwriting. The red-headed magistrate examined it and then held it aloft. The judge levitated it to herself. Mrs. Sun resumed, "Professor Stalvan's verification." The statement gracefully flitted down to the prosecutor (Sam briefly mused that Severus needed to step up his levitation game). And as if that were Sun's cue to go on, "And what were your injuries from what Professor Stalvan described as a 'scuffle'?"

NOW Sam saw where this was headed. She pointed to her fingertips as she listed off, "Uh, bloody nose, black eye, figured out I chipped a horn later, and my back looked like a map of the Amazon basin."

Cattermole didn't accept that last description, "Your meaning, Miss Witherspoon?"

Sam sighed, "It was all bruised and splotchy, like a bunch of rivers crisscrossing each other."

The prosecutor thought he had something, "Did you seek healing for your wounds?"

"No, I -"

He finished, "You're in the habit of keeping secrets: your mother's identity, your nature, your injuries."

 _There it was: blame the demons._ Sam repeated emphatically, "NO, I -!"

Her own defender interrupted, "How many witnesses were there to your conflict with Theodore Nott, Junior?"

Sam winced, she wondered if it was OK for Mrs. Sun to name the other student. Then she realized she'd said 'Malfoy' in reference to Scorpius earlier. Whatever, it didn't matter. Sam was already upset. She rattled off who she could think of, "Leilianna was there, and Portia, and Severus, and Scorpius, Professor Emmerlinse was there."

While Sam was unsettled by Cattermole, Cho became even more composed, "On your arrival to Hogwarts, who was aware of your being a cambion?"

Mom had told her, and Sam had rehearsed this one, "The Minister of Magic, Mister Shacklebolt; the Minister of Law Merriweather; the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Gordon Orinsworth; the Hogwarts healer, Madame Bell." They had left off Mr. Creevey on Miss Patil's advice.

"So, seeking out magical healing would not have exposed a secret that the highest representatives of the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts agreed you may maintain while visiting our nation?"

It reassured Sam only slightly, "Right, yeah."

"You couldn't avoid your headstudent, nor Professor Emmerlinse, Professor Stalvan, but you sought out the Headmaster after your scuffle did you not?" Cho practically testified.

"Yeah -" Sam became more certain.

Mrs. Sun continued, "Back to the day in question, after you escaped a personal assault, a matter of the legal record, what was your first thought?"

Sam felt the worry of that day all over, "I wanted to find Mom."

"And where did you go? Who did you trust to help you find her?"

"The gover-" Sam corrected herself, "- the Ministry."

The prosecutor countered, "You may not have had a choice at Hogwarts, Headstudent Stansfield, Professor Emmerlinse, or Stalvan would have summoned the Headmaster." Sam didn't have a chance to answer either way before Cattermole went on, "And as your representative has implied, going to the Ministry was the act of of an innocent mind."

"Right," Sam managed to squeeze in.

It didn't shake him, "OR the act of someone who wanted to avoid the scrutiny flight would have caused, you wanted to _appear_ innocent."

Mrs. Sun didn't hide her disbelief, "Whereas flight is an act reserved to the guilty?" she paused a moment as the prosecutor clenched his jaw. "Mister Cattermole violates his own objection in testifying as to Samantha's thoughts." Yet Sun guarded a tiny smirk. She'd led him into a little trap.

The hidden gathering whispered. Then Mrs. Bones declared, "Mister Cattermole, as the previous testimony was dismissed and stricken from the record, so too will your conjecture."

Since she was eight, Sam had planned on joining the military. Cho Sun made Sam wonder what it would be like to become a lawyer instead.

Astoria's questioning backed up Sam's testimony, when and where it could. But Mrs. Malfoy didn't know what Sam had done nor where she had gone from the moment she exploded into the sky to when she called out in the Ministry lobby. The only new information Astoria had was that "Sara Skein" had left the Diagon/Knocturn alleys to contact the American Embassy about Sam's disappearance. Well, "allegedly" per Mr. Cattermole's objection.

"And why did you befriend this cambion and her mother?" the prosecutor demanded.

Sun countered immediately, "Relevance? Missus Malfoy's actions and motivations are not at issue."

While Sam was interested to hear the answer, she wasn't about to question her lawyer's judgment. Especially when the prosecutor was so flustered, "Why then, you, err, seven galleons is quite a bit for a wand." Quiet followed Cattermole's words.

Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. The Magistrate guy coughed. The judge lady licked and bit her lips, then prompted in a hush, "A question."

"Yes, of course," the prosecutor swallowed. "You - you were prepared to pay seven galleons for a wand on Miss Witherspoon's behalf?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's quite a bit, isn't it?"

Astoria tilted her head slightly, "No."

The prosecutor barely shook his head, "Excuse me, 'no'?"

"You're excused," Mrs. Malfoy mocked. "I spend more on groceries in a month. Our house payment was more than three times that. And this would not be a recurring cost."

"It is apparent the Malfoy family has bounced back from their previous deprivations," added Mrs. (Miss?) Bones.

Sam wasn't sure which she disliked more, the Head Warlocks's tone (her silly title), or what Astoria had said. She'd made a calculation, an analysis as to whether or not a gift was affordable. Except ... that was perfectly reasonable. And when Sam had been upset over the money she had cost the Malfoys, Astoria had reassured her with similar math. And Bones was just a mean, old hag either way.

Mr. Cattermole was not satisfied either. He ordered his parchments and his thoughts, "The - the record shows you - you were not aware of the true nature of Miss Witherspoon or the woman you knew as Sara Skein until you were about to leave Ollivander's shop."

"No."

That wasn't the answer he'd counted on either, "Then you _were_ aware of their demonic nature prior to that."

Mrs. Sun stood, "Point of order, Astoria Malfoy was not affected by Samantha nor her mother magically. The point of the record is that prior to leaving Ollivander's, Samantha's relationship to her mother became apparent to the witness."

Cattermole swallowed as he re-read his file, "Err, is that the case, Missus Malfoy?"

Astoria tilted her head the opposite direction, "Yes."

The prosecutor continued to trip on his questions, "So, it was when ... when did you know they were - when did you learn the truth of their nature?"

Astoria relaxed a bit and cupped her hand to her chin, "Let's see ..." She paused in thought, "It would be long after I let Sam think I was still named Greengrass, or, as the Ministry had directed over a decade before that I go by 'Green' amongst muggles."

Bones strummed her fingertips on the bench impatiently.

Mr. Cattermole tried to direct the witness towards his goal, "But recently -"

"Ah, more recently my son Scorpius has finally been allowed to use his own name instead of 'Scott', as he did at his primary school and is printed on his passport, just as his father has been similarly renamed Drake -"

"Missus Malfoy!"

While the prosecutor lost his patience, Astoria continued evenly, "Yes, me, I had just turned into a spitewyrm and killed two men when Sam discovered _my_ true nature."

The Head Warlock inserted, "The nature of your family is not in doubt! Answer as to when you learned Miss Witherspoon's secret."

Mrs. Malfoy sighed and sat rigid in the witness stand, "Upon our reunion in the Ministry lobby I saw that her hands were different. There were already ten aurors clutching their wands. I concealed her hands out of fear she might be blamed for my actions. It wasn't until we had returned to Hogwarts that I knew the truth, the whole truth."

Cattermole resumed, "And you left her there, at Hogwarts, without a word of warning to the staff or any of the human children there," he declared triumphantly.

It didn't last long. Cho objected, "Once again, Astoria's actions are not -"

But Astoria wasn't prepared to let someone else do the talking for her. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, "Yes, I left her to return to her room with the child of a thief, herself friends with the son of a Death Eater, under the tutelage of a convicted killer this Wizengamot placed as headmaster at Hogwarts."

The Magistrate piped in, "The esteemed body installed Gordon Orinsworth under strict supervision as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor only, it was the board of governors who approved the previous headmistress's recommendation of him as her successor."

The brief distraction seemed to aggravate Mr. Cattermole, "And how many Hogwarts students- how many **eleven year-olds** do you know even _accused_ of killing someone?"

Sam seemed to be the only to notice when Cho Sun spoke just above a breath, "Point of order." No one else paid her any heed, nor caught her faint grin.

Astoria's anger smoldered, "Just the one."

The prosecutor didn't seem to register the answer as he responded smugly, "Thank you-"

"Harry Potter."

As awesome as the ending to Astoria's testimony felt, Cho made it clear that it really didn't get Sam anywhere. While it had unsettled Cattermole, it didn't establish Sam's alibi. That was up to the next witness.

"The defence calls upon Dudley Dursley."

"Point of order, the witness cannot testify as an obliviation subject."

Cho was annoyed, "The witness qualifies for and has been listed by the Ministry under a class three C exemption: muggle relative, no more than thrice removed, of a witch or wizard. They were raised in the same home."

The magistrate spoke up, "The roster of exempt individuals is not publicly known and was not made available in this matter."

It wasn't clear what upset Mrs. Sun more, that the magistrate talked about her like she wasn't there or that she had been denied access to the list. Whichever it was, she was still prepared. She read off a yellowed parchment, "No, it was not, but I was already familiar with the case history. 1992 Muggle Liason Office in reference to actions taken by Rubeus Hagrid as an agent of Hogwarts - muggle witnesses Petunia Dursley neè Evans class two, and Vernon and Dudley Dursley class three C -"

"Missus Sun-" The magistrate started, but Sun cut him off.

She placed the first file aside, "1993, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, suspects Harry Potter, Frederick, George, and Ronald Weasley; witness Dudley Dursley class three C."

"My brother's actions -"

She dropped the previous sheet, "1994 Improper Use of Magic Office ... witness Dudley Dursley class three C."

"That incident was not pursued due to -"

Cho let a file drop as she read off the next, one after another, "1995 Muggle Relations with of Floo Regulation Panel, Dudley Dursley three C; 1996 Improper Use of Magic Office Dudley Dursley three C, _twice;_ 1997 a rare reprieve of official reports; and then ..." She held onto the last one, "1998, an extensive file by Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones, operating under purview of then Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, witness Dudley Dursley, class - three - C - exemption." Mrs. Sun set down the last file atop the scattered ones beneath it.

Magistrate Weasley took a moment to compose himself while Prosecutor Cattermole and the whole of the Wizengamot watched on. When he spoke, it was dejectedly, "Be that as it may, no application has ever been received for permanent status."

Even the Warlock Bones was incredulous, "By Harry Potter? Has the Chief Auror forsaken his own cousin?"

The magistrate sighed sharply, "No, your honor. Mister Dursley remains in default status under his class three C exemption; but that does nothing in regards to his dealings with Miss Witherspoon or any other wizard or witch he isn't related to. He is therefore still subject to all avoidance charms, counter-muggle illusions, and active obliviations due to disclosure by other members of the wizarding community."

Mrs. Sun managed to keep all but a hint of ire out of her voice, "Then - I humbly submit a request for redirect of - of the Obliviator in question." She picked a sheet out of her folder and declared dejectedly, "An Obliviator isn't even _named_ in the prosecution's witnesses."

Cattermole sounded sympathetic, "That, as is policy, for the protection of the muggles affected."

Cho didn't buy it, and her annoyance was obvious, "Protection of the muggles?"

"Were it readily known which Obliviator altered which muggle's memories and how, that muggle could then be exploited by another wizard or witch based on the subject's implanted memories." Mr. Cattermole continued placidly, "Based on this interest, and a lack of any evidence corroborating Miss Witherspoon's claims, I must deny the defence's request."

Ch 43 For the Record

Sam

Sun went over new strategies and lines of questioning with Stansfield during lunch. Or, at least, Sam guessed that's what they did. She wasn't excluded out of spite, but to protect herself from testifying what she knew about her own defense. Mr. Stansfiled pointed out this was a wizarding weirdness vice a British one.

Still, it left her by herself, and feeling even more alone at the table. Sam had been given the "choice" of staying there (under bailiff supervision) or going back to her cell.

It was a relief when the trial resumed and Mrs. Sun started up again, "The defence calls Sakeen Al-Suhirah."

While the call was rather obviously coming (the Aurors that had arrested them had just escorted Sam's mother into the courtroom), Magistrate Weasley wasn't quite prepared, "Err, yes, just a moment ..." He held a dark-bound tome open before him, "The circle will take just a moment."

"Circle?" Mrs. Sun directed her concern at the Wizengamot's visible representative. "For what purpose? Sakeen is not charged, has not presented a threat, and there are two Aurors present."

The Head Warlock swallowed dryly, but sounded more confident than she appeared, "It is traditional practice to secure and compel cooperation from a demon appearing before the Wizengamot."

"Tradition?" Cho asked with a mix of anger and disbelief. "It was once 'tradition' to compel cooperation from **all** witnesses with veratiserum. We've been working to abandon the illogical ad hoc nature of the Wizengamot and bring it into the 21st century."

Sam wasn't sure it was a good thing to keep putting the judge on the defensive. The older woman was obviously offended, "We managed without such changes even in the 19th century, Miss Sun. Had you been around, you'd know that practice was proven ineffective, as well-practiced witnesses could make the the truth just as misleading as perjury."

Mrs. Sun shot back, "Whether the Wizengamot believes this witness 'well-practiced' or not, the 2003 Sentient Persons Equality Law extends human rights to all sentient races."

" _Mortal_ , sentient races," Cattermole countered.

Cho came back in exasperation, "Which was amended in 2005 to include _'undying'_ sentients."

The prosecutor didn't relent, "That would have previously qualified as living sentients, but it has never been definitively established that demons qualify as alive, or even subject to death. No change has ever been made in direct relation to demons."

Sam's barrister shrugged, "Because demons are barred from entering the United Kingdom! With such exceptions made to that prohibition, any and all updates to our legal system should apply to them as well."

The old woman considered a moment. She turned and conferred with her shadowy colleagues. As she did so, the murky gray extended over her, and nothing but the Wizengamot's characteristic mumbling could be heard. She re-emerged and addressed the defense attorney, "The demon's testimony will not be compelled." Mrs. Sun bit back her satisfied smile. She shouldn't have bothered. "To satisfy all parties then, she shall not testify at all."

First no Dudley, and then no Sakeena. The only upside to Mom not testifying was that the Wizengamot called it a day (so the prosecution could start fresh in the morning). No, that wasn't the only upside, Sam had gotten to see her mother, and though in shackles, flanked by Aurors, and once again, feared by the humans around them, she saw her none-the-less. If only Sam had the forethought to establish a better alibi for a crime she hadn't even been aware of.

Severus

It was a relief to go home. The Burrow, as big was it was, had felt like a prison after "the fallout". Everyone wanted to put in their knute about what happened. It would have been easier if they'd done as George (jokingly) suggested and put Dominique and Severus side-by-side and had everyone form a queue to apologise. At least George had promised to replace the messaging book Mother had thrown in the fire.

Despite the Potters leaving early, that didn't leave the entire family behind. James whinged about Dominique, Mum snapped at him, Lily cried. Before they'd even gotten inside, James was sent to his room. Totsie took up guard at his door, and comforted Lily who in turn informed the house elf about the various events that had brought them back so soon. Severus didn't want to dwell on a story he'd lived through.

 _Where'd Dad go?_ He'd left the rug to Mum (the Burq 15X had auto-roll, but Mr Potter often forgot that feature). On the third floor, Severus heard his mum crying, but not his dad reassuring her. Lily (of course) wasn't in her room on the second and neither was anyone else. From the first floor balcony, Sev checked the courtyard. He shook his head at the silliness of thinking his dad might rush downstairs to watch telly or play a video game (though it would have been the best place after the roof to make a private call). The formal dining room was clear, and just as Severus was about to dash down to the basement, he caught the sound of shuffling footsteps from the library.

His father's voice followed soon after, "Thanks, Percy." A dragon's launching screech signalled the end of the call.

"Hey, Dad?"

Mr Potter slipped the small mirror into his jacket pocket, "Yeah, Al -Severus?"

Dad had been quick to go along with the name change, so it wasn't as disappointing when he slipped. Severus had something else on his mind anyway, "Did ... is Sam -"

Dad interrupted with concern, "Severus, I can't -" He stopped as his son's eyes dropped.

Sev would have liked it if his father bent the rules just a little, if he would let Severus in on what was going on. He raised his eyes slightly, but kept them on the ornate rug under his father's feet. Sev decided to change the subject entirely, "Did you stay in the Gryffindors' Black family room when you went to Hogwarts?"

Mr Potter smirked, "No. We don't have legacy rooms like you sneaky snakes."

It was strange, when James said that kind of stuff it made Severus' skin itch. When his father said it, well, Dad didn't say it to be mean. "Yeah, I guess James woulda said something if he got his own room." Severus paused. "Who did you room with? Ron, and ..."

"Neville, Dean, and Seamus. There were a lot less students then." They were quiet a moment before Mr Potter prodded, "You and Scorpius are good mates. You two enjoying your classes?"

It was a strange time to ask. They'd been on holiday for over a week, and Mum and Gran, and just about everyone who wasn't a kid had already asked Rose and Sev that same thing (or at least something very nearly the same). "Dad ..." he looked up and saw that his father's eyes were locked on him. It gave Severus the confidence to go on, "Is it good being an Auror?"

Mr Potter took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he answered, "I'm ... good at it. I don't think it's a job - a career that - 'good' means different things to different people. You do it because you care about people, because you want everyone to be safe."

"Everyone?"

Dad nodded, "Yes, everyone." He leaned against the steps of the rolling ladder. "When I was your age, until I was as old as Vicky really, I thought Professor Snape wasn't worth caring about. So many times I _knew_ he should've been sent to Azkaban, no trial, no chances, locked in a cell and roomed up with the dementors."

Severus understood the feeling (toward James), but not that last word, "Dementors?"

Mr Potter pushed himself up, "Darker times, Sev ... " He trailed off in thought. "Hey!" he forced a cheerful tone, "Grab your book." _Complicated_ was propped on the small table beside the plush reading chair. "And let's go to the garage. I'll work on the Triumph and you can read and ask me about anything that doesn't make sense." Sev picked up the book and examined the picture of the scowling professor. Mr Potter cupped his hand on Severus' shoulder, "Come on, I think we all need a little time to think about what's happened."

Sam

The prosecution called on Nathan Nusbaum. His hair was scruffy and his robes mended repeatedly. Sam wondered if he was some homeless mage that had witnessed something due to his sleeping spot outside Ollivander's shop.

"Mister Nusbaum, you are Head of Forensics for the Department of Law?" Cattermole stated the question.

 _A Swing and a miss!_ Sam blew a raspberry at her drastic error.

The witness was agitated, "Head? I'm the only one. You know muggles have multiple forensic labs across England?"

The prosecutor tried to move on, "Now, Mister Nusbaum, you-"

"I don't even have an assistant." He turned back to face the judge, "Not even an _assistant._ I've met Scotland Yards' chief Forensics officer fifty times." He faced the prosecutor, "There's just the one, and I've met 'er FIFTY times! Obliviated each and every. Who knows what's that done to 'er mind?"

"Mister Nusbaum," the Head Warlock attempted to focus his attention. "The case at hand," she guided him back to the face ahead.

The "Head" of Forensics muttered distractedly, "Yeah, yeah, case at hand, you and Potter." He took a deep breath and spoke clearly, "initial investigation determined that Garrick Ollivander was dead."

Mrs. Bones grimaced, "That is quite clear, Mister-"

He swiveled around, his hands tight on the arms of the witness chair, "No, no it isn't! Your Potter's died at least once. Voldemort more 'n that. We got -" He turned to the front and seemed to remember where he was, or at least whom he was speaking to, "Err, a number of vampires registered." He became enthused, "And what if it wasn't a real body, I mean it was, but what if it wasn't _his_ body. We're talkin' murder, what about a polyjuice potion? Victim don't mean innocent does it?" Nusbaum directed the question to the Wizengamot, too, "Does it? You know what happens if an animagus dies while changed, or if someone dies under the effect of a polyjuice, do ya?" And again to the lawyers, "Do ya?"

There was a long silence as it seemed the witness had taken over the proceedings. Sam shook softly as she fought back her giggles. This guy was awesome.

Sun edged her hand up like a confident student and Nusbaum called on her accordingly, "You, yeah, bet ya know. Ravenclaw, bet ya know."

But Mrs. Sun didn't speak until Bones nodded. With the expressed permission, Cho answered quite confidently, "A polyjuice potion is its own magical effect, a deceased person would not revert unless forced or the potion was already wearing down, whereas an animagus' change is dependent on his or her own efforts, they would revert."

"Correct!" Nusbaum declared enthusiastically.

The prosecutor tried to regain control (of his own witness), "So you _did_ determine that it was Wandmaster Ollivander, that he was indeed dead. And what was the time of his death, Mister Nusbaum?"

"Time, no. Day? Saturday, the thirtieth of September, two thousand seventeen. The body'd been there over month as it gone 'blow flies ta beetles' as the entomologist says. And he can't testify here either, can 'ee?"

The judge warned, "Mister Nusbaum."

"He's the one that knew the lack of more -" he paused as he examined his notes, "Well, what do you care about scientific names? One more set of larva casings would'a put it earlier, less, it might'a been October, but it was the end of September."

Cattermole nearly pleaded, "And magical means of testing determined-"

"Magic?" The Head of forensics interrupted, "You probably think carbon fourteen and uranium two thirty-four are magic. No help here, but they ain't magic." After a moment of no one scolding him, the witness continued in an official tone, "Ret-cog puts the morning in question as the last time Ollivander left his shop, where he also lived. Street census done for the Malfoy case turned up nothin' for him at the time, but put him at the Leaky Cauldron that mornin'. Trelawney last to see him there, failed to wand lock his door that night, no breakfast at the Cauldron the day affer."

"And how were you able to determine the cause of death?" Cattermole inquired.

"Most likely cause of death," Nusbaum corrected.

"Excuse me?"

"Magic isn't science and science isn't magic, mate. We know when Ollivander closed his shop the day b'fore 'cause he put a locking charm on it, but we got no idea who was there through the day 'cause not too many people go 'round castin' doors open. And whoever locked it, after he was dead, did it manu'lly."

Cattermole held up a capped leather tube, "According to your report ..."

The witness took a short breath, "Mister Ollivander had an open wound in his abdomen."

"How does this implicate the accused?"

Nusbaum hesitated before answering, "Magic's not a miracle, is it? Magic's about questions, it can only do what ya ask it for. But science, it's about _answers_ , gives ya information ya didn't even know ya were lookin' for."

The prosecutor attempted to imitate the Headd Warlock's warning tone, "Mister Nusbaum -"

It didn't work. "No! Entomology, Chemistry, Biology, Genetics, blood splatter, Physics, I got ten contacts at Scotland Yard and MI-5 who don't even know who I am most tha time! Can ya imagine how much more of a help they'd be if we let 'em remember what they figured out on the last case, the case before that, ALL the cases they've helped with? New Obliviate methods or not -"

The extended diversion agitated the judge, "Address the matter at hand, Mister Nusbaum or you will be dismissed from the stand along with a similar recommendation to Mister Merriweather to dismiss you from your station!"

For a moment, it appeared the Head of Forensics considered which was more important: complaints about his job or it still being _his_ job. "My magical sweep was for foreign human or animal traces, came up dry. But Maddie, err, Miss Daniels' genetic examination came up with unmatched material. It didn't just not match the victim, it wasn't dead, just dormant, it appeared to be independently viable."

Cattermole tried to keep his witness on track, "Which indicated what?"

Nusbaum reacted dryly, "Which indicated one the greatest scientific discoveries since Henrietta Lacks. A detached cell, one from a larger organism, in perfect hibernation. Noticing and acting to rejoin similar cells when exposed to them." Then as if to preempt another threat, "Well, my wound relapse reminded me, and I thought of a finding from InterAuror labs in Geneva of how demonic tissue appears to scientific examination. I swept again for demon tissue and confirmed its presence in the wound."

"You don't normally check for demonic tissues?" The prosecutor inquired.

The witness's eyes went wide as he looked to the floor, "Been banned and barred from the UK for over two centuries ... but we - I'll include it from now on."

The prosecutor asked uncertainly, "Were you able to determine the D and A?"

Nusbaum shook his head, "D-N-A. No. The DNA went unstable when tested. Another demonic trait. They're nearly viral in their make-up. Not that you'd -" He sighed, "They require some kind of anchor, a stabilizer of sorts, from contact with a living, or once living person. That's what made me suspect cambion cells. I wouldn'na found 'em at all, otherwise. Isolated demon cells degrade quickly. But that only happened with the samples when we extracted 'em, isolated from the human parts, the nucleas decayed beyond use."

"And what did your examination with the muggle psychic determine?"

It was Nusbaum's turn to be confused, "Psychic?"

Cattermole read from a normal printed page, "Hakeem Abde-"

"Physicist, Forensic _Physicist_. Like his charts show: blood flow, size and depth of entry indicate the victim had been standing when struck," he closed his open hand, "gouged out, something like six centimeters span. If by a human, or human _-ish_ attacker, that indicates someone about sixty centimeters tall. Also, the attack was by someone shorter than, or otherwise beneath the victim. The age and nature of the wound prevented an accurate determination of the force of the attack or exact method. Though it broke flesh, any pointed object would make that simple enough ... physically."

The prosecutor continued with confidence, "This was the cause of death."

Nusbaum amended, _"Probable_ cause of death. Mister Ollivander had lost at least two liters of blood, which an otherwise healthy subject _might_ survive ... with immediate assistance."

"Was Ollivander not a healthy subject?"

The forensic witness raised his eyebrows, "Over a hundred fifty, not _young._ But treatment he had received at Saint Mongo's and Lewy bodies found in the postmortem indicate he had Parkinson's which caused low blood pressure, erratic tremors, maybe early dementia, not sure what other symptoms he was sufferin', but they got those first two on record."

Cattermole then pronounced with confidence, "Such symptoms might prevent a full-grown man from defending himself, physically or magically."

Nusbaum gave in reluctantly, "Yeah ... they might."

Sam had tried to quiet her worry over Sun not objecting or interrupting (or whatever the British called it) during Nusbaum's testimony. It turned out to be worse than she thought. At the end, Mrs. Sun requested to "challenge the witness" and was denied. Cho was incensed, "Never happens in muggle court. This is almost as bad as when Umbridge sat the bench alone."

The rest of the witnesses weren't as interesting, but their testimony no less damning ( _ha!_ ) Longbottom (Mrs. not Professor), that Auror Mateo ( _like a Spanish Matthews?_ ), and some others saw Ollivander leaving the Leaky Cauldron the morning in question. Hannah Longbottom supplied that he ate there every morning (when he was home). Sam's height (60cm) and hand span (6cm) were measured. Professor Hagrid recounted Sam's transformation and boat shove that first night at Hogwarts.

None of it proved Sam had anything to do with the old wandmaker's death. Yet Sam couldn't help but pick up that Sun was worried and Bones was certain.

"What if we - what if I lose?" Sam pleaded under her breath.

"We aren't there yet." Cho reassured as she kept her eyes on the Belgian cambion expert (his most useful point being that Sam couldn't have cast "the killing curse" without suffering the same fate as her victim).

Sam fidgeted with her claws, "You never even asked if I was guilty or not."

"You never said you didn't do it." The barrister put her hands on the table, about to stand, "You just provided a timeline that would've made it impossible." She stood and announced, "The defence requests allowance to address the prosecution's witness."

The Head Warlock answered flatly, "Challenge of the prosecution's witnesses has been denied."

It was Mrs. Sun's turn to plead, "Is the Wizengamot so committed as to not even allow a child to question the case brought against her?"

Instead of softening at the plea, Bones was agitated, "The Wizengamot would not even have to adjudicate this matter had it not been complicated by the Ministry's approval of this ... _creature's_ presence and the threat she represents, especially to the children of Hogwarts."

"Threat? We can only punish someone for what they've done, not the threat they pose, or else every invitation to Hogwarts would be unto a sentence to Azkaban, as well: a wizard's words can kill." Cho's response gave Sam another glimmer of hope. At least she had the best lawyer in the room arguing for her.

The head of the Wizengamot stood, "I don't expect you to understand, Miss Sun, you've never had nor lost a child."

Mrs. Sun's jaw clenched, she whispered sharply, "This isn't about you."

Sam wasn't sure who Cho meant: the old woman, herself, or Sam. Or, if this was like one of Sam's puzzle problems, it could apply to all three of them.

Ch. 44 Off the Record

Sam

"The Wizengamot shall adjourn to consider the facts presented," the Head Warlock stated.

Sun looked drained from the proceedings. Sam thought it was probably better to stay in the courtroom as long as she could, better than her cell. They sat a few minutes in the quiet.

When they entered the hall, Robert Stansfield was just a few yards down the narrow passage with an oddly adorned figure. The person (?) was covered head-to-toe in what appeared to be burlap. It spoke in an eerie, scratchy voice, "Think of the welfare of your client rather than the success of your case." Upon noticing Sam and Cho, "it" turned to them. The face was shadowed from the angle of the torches in the hall. Whoever it was, it was off and up the stairs by the time the ladies reached Mr. Stansfield.

"Who was that?" Cho inquired.

Stansfield was bemused, "Someone who doesn't think much of our case. What happened?"

Sun was not ready to discuss it, at least not in front of Sam, "Hold on."

Which was fine by Sam. She wanted to give them their space and take the chance to find out who that weirdly (even weirder than most) dressed wizard was. The steps were clear though.

Mrs. Sun was quick on Sam's heels, "This isn't over. I need you to behave while Robert and I discuss what else we can do." Sam did not look forward to returning to a cell (who did?), but Mrs. Sun had done more than enough to earn Sam's trust.

Sam, on the other hand, _didn't_ want to think about her case, but she had little else to occupy her mind. What she did imagine was even worse: Leilianna, Severus, and Portia finding out she was a half-demon; the parents calling on Orinsworrth to kick her out of Hogwarts; going back to GLA. And all that if she _wasn't_ convicted. Except that seemed a fading possibility, yet how could she be found guilty of something she hadn't even done? _Because "demon", that's how._

Mrs. Malfoy had left a few changes of clothes and other essentials. It was all thoroughly searched, and only the clothes and her hygiene bag weren't confiscated. At least Astoria had the wisdom to not bring any of Sam's many joke shirts ("Mommy's Little Demon", "the Devil Wears This", or her Heaven/Hell bed shirt). All of those were reserved for wearing around the house, passive-aggressive attacks at her mother who insisted her little girl was "human". Sam sat on the wooden cot and stroked the stitches of a patch on the knee of her jeans. It was handsewn. Sakeena was restricted from using her magic back home. If only they had stayed at home. "I done goofed, Ma," Sam mocked herself mournfully.

"Yours is not the only error, changeling." The other-worldly voice startled Sam.

She challenged the tan-draped figure, "What the hell are you? What did you say to Mister Stansfield?"

Its head cocked to the side, "'What'? Not 'who'? _What_ do you see before you?"

Whatever it was had already gotten into the jail area, but what if it was ... there to attack her? It could do so easily; Sam was locked in a cell that prevented any magic being used from the inside. What was there to lose? Even under the hood was more rough, brown material, shrouding its identity. "You look like a burlap dementor."

It was bizarre, Sam could swear the thing's undefined face somehow smiled. "Indeed. As one raised in obfuscation, you are enured to its effects."

Sam leapt up and grasped the bars, "Don't talk about my mother like that!"

The visitor stood still and silent a moment. It was unlikely to be cowed by a little girl's temper, nor empathetic to Sam's conflicted feelings towards her mother. It was impossible to read any emotions in the creaky words, "I meant as someone like myself, you must hide your true identity from others, lest we be judged for what is perceived, vice what is."

It took the edge off Sam's anger. "So ... what do you see before you?" _Horns, claws, fangs, scales._

"It is not you I see, but the mystery about you, and mysteries, you see, are my department."

The visitor had the key to the cell. The guard did not react as they left. Just past him, Sam recognized the seal on the door that her mother must have been moved to, but she felt like this was not the time to take any (more) chances.

Though that might not have been a concern at all. As she was ushered forward through the halls, up the stairs and out the lobby, no one paid the least bit of attention to them. And it was not as if the Ministry was deserted. Holidays or not, it seemed like everyone else considered it just another Thursday.

"Are you gonna prove I'm innocent?" Sam inquired. Then, to cut off any witty rejoinders she added, "- of this, of killing the wand dude."

They paused a moment before what seemed to be the exit. The scratchy voice replied, "No plea for escape? We seek the truth. Something few see once they find what they expect ... or desire."

Outside, the day was as dismal as Sam had felt in the courtroom. Rain splashed on the cobblestones and choked the sewer grates. The bustle of people kept to the awnings on each side, leaving the narrow middle clear for Sam and her mysterious escort. At a junction, Sam was directed by a gentle nudge down an alley. Though their path was convoluted, Sam knew there was only one place they could be going: the wand shop.

Before the storefront were two robed figures, one with its hood up, the other down. The second was Severus' father, Chief Auror Harry Potter. A younger man emerged and yanked on the yellow-taped door behind him. "Three days and barely half done. He literally had wands for days!" The hooded man chuckled as Mr. Potter nodded towards the slightly ajar door. "Oh sorry, sir," the young man apologized as he reached for the handle. The Chief Auror shook his head, though. The junior Auror raised his hood as he stood aside.

Sam's new companion muttered, "Spell barrier tape and three Aurors. Nigh impossible."

The Chief Auror leaned over and looked about but did not enter the store, as if to check for trespassers. It seemed a little paranoid, yet in the magical community not entirely uncalled for. "Right, you two go to El See and grab supper."

"Señor Potter, it will be quite crowded given the weather. It would be more rapid to order paellea from Gibraltar than to seat ourselves at the Leaky Cauldron on a night like this."

Potter stared a moment at the other man before responding with a brief lecture, "Auror-in-training Lupin doesn't have that option, and I imagine he'd like an oppurtunity to unload about all the busy work he's been tasked with the past three days." The rain splattered on the stones even louder in the ensuing absence of words. "Don't worry, Ygnasio, I'll contact Maisie and make sure she's here before you get back."

The burlap masked mage quietly chided, "No, no, Mister Potter, rank has its priveleges, put the boy on guard and warm yourself by the tavern's fire."

The hooded Auror (Ygnasio) shrugged, "And then is my change over. But when is this truly over?"

"When the trial ends, Iggy."

Another chuckle, "Tomorrow then? Come, Teddy." The hooded men left Mr. Potter to guard the shop alone.

"One is better than two, but _this_ one ... not ideal, not in the least," whispered the mystery wizard.

Chief Auror Potter produced a thin object from inside his robe and stepped further into the street. "Miss Morris." He said to the mirror, then announced to the departing pair, "Eat your fill, Teddy, then you and Cattermole can decide who stands in the rain, and who records the wands inside." He stopped in the middle of the vacant, rain-drenched street. He seemed to almost deliberately face away from the store.

By the burlap-clad wizard's reaction, it was neither "seem" nor "almost". "So that's how." It (he?) grabbed Sam's forearm and they traced the path most distant from Mr. Potter to reach the wand store. Sam was tempted to yell, clap, laugh, something just to test if the Chief Auror had really just left the crime scene open at the very moment someone was trying to sneak in. The entire scenario was just too weird, too convenient.

The rain drowned out the splash of their steps, but still they crept as they passed the display window and the wand box atop its lavender pillow. The door closed behind them with the sealing burp of a leftovers container. Even out of the rain, Sam didn't mind her wet clothes, nor the water that dripped from her horns into her ears.

Upon looking up, the reality of where she was sunk in, and what had happened here. The mystery mage crouched beside some stand-up markers. They surrounded a large gouge in the floor, the body, and everything around it had been carved out and taken away. For Sam, it had become all that more real to her, "Did he have any kids, I mean, he was old, grandkids, great-grandkids?"

The featureless mask obscured any reaction. It continued to squat beside the spot where it seemed that the wandmaker had fallen. The rasping voice exposed no mouth, "Not the typical question of the typical killer."

Sam forgot who was right outside, or even who she was with, "I'm not a killer!"

The reply came without pause, or malice, "But Harry Potter is, as Astoria Malfoy reminded us. Takes one to know one, isn't that the saying?"

It took a second before Sam figured out what her escort meant, "Astoria - she - those guys were going to -"

"Rape you? Yes, so it's best for you Missus Malfoy was willing and capable. Perhaps the matter is more of whom you kill, rather than the act itself. But was it instead luck, good or bad, that saved or threatened you that day?"

"What?"

"The report, both yours and the former Miss Greengrass's stated you found a black ladybird, or 'ladybug', on a four-leaf clover."

"And I flicked it off. And they ... that's when they -"

"No, you see, they were already there. Your action did not summon them, nor change their intent. Nor did it add to the abilities or affect the reactions of your lethal companian." It stood and examined the front of the counter. "No. It sent you into the hands of a very well-meaning, if not-too-brilliant, sanitation supervisor, but was that ordained by luck alone?"

The admission, even veiled, pushed Sam over the edge, "You know Dudley helped me! That I was with him, that I couldn't've done this. You gotta tell the judge!"

"Think a moment. Would I bring you here if I could so easily exonerate you with my testimony?" It brushed past Sam to examine the handle and then the curtains of the windows to either side of the door. "And now, beside me, it's not that it makes sense, it's more that it doesn't matter at all."

It was right. _What was the point of it testifying?_ The prosecutor didn't have much of a case, but the old Bones lady seemed set on convicting Sam. She was demon-spawn, it didn't matter what anyone said.

"Now step away, and consider your clothes for a moment."

Sam was careful to avoid the outline of stanchions as she put distance between herself and the unknown- _wait a second!_ "Who the hell are you?"

It turned from examining the countertop to face her, "And you see? Your clothes ..."

It was right, she was soaked through. It was a minor thing to concentrate the steam away from her and water out of her clothing, why hadn't she'd already done that? The warmth soothed her clammy skin, but it wasn't near enough to counter the fear she felt over escaping jail, and now standing in the place of the man she was accused of murdering.

"And so how would I testify? Were I to claim the sun went 'round the Earth and the moon be made of cheese it would be all too convincing. My disguise has advantages beyond mere appearance."

"You could -"

"Surrender my visage? Reveal who I am at the sacrifice of the cause I serve?" It looked behind and beneath the counter. "You think yourself more important than the truth? It would matter not. My words recorded would evaporate from the page if not the mind, the ideas may linger, but the speaker would be forgotten. Your biology gifts you in deceiving perceptions ... your upbringing at perceiving deceptions. For you, our meeting will be unforgettable, but for any other it would be Unspeakable."

It had a British accent, of that Sam was certain, but nothing else gave a clue as to who was beneath the rough fabric, behind the rasping, no, _Scratchy_ voice. "Then at least you can ... there have to be some access records at King's Cross."

Scratchy replied quickly, "Of course, but a clever killer would have made a circuitous route to throw off suspiscion. More vexxing is an old woman's sudden hatred of a specie she'd never before encountered."

"The Head Warlock!"

"Seraphina Bones. An old and respected member of even older and more respected family. Her return to what was once her seat on the Wizengamot was greeted with open arms ... but peculiar she has persisted two decades since." It glanced down the rows. "You've a capable team rallied about your cause. Miss Patil is very thorough, tenacious. And Missus Sun dedicated to justice. Had me or mine been tasked with adjusting Mister Dursely's unscheduled exposure to the wizarding world, our techniques would allow us to recover his mired memories."

The idea of Scratchy's identity distracted Sam. She was too concerned with the estimating the wizard's height and size as it stood at the counter. The counter which concealed the long chain stretched between the wizard's thumbs, and the hourglass spinning at its center.

Ch 45 It Was Just Last Week

Unspeakable

The mask's scent charm cut the stench, but it didn't keep the flies away. The standing markers were gone, the fetid corpse of Garrick Ollivander lay where there was a cavity only a moment ago. No, that wasn't quite right, Ollivander's body had yet to be removed, the cavity would be formed in the process, the markers would be placed just prior to that.

Neither muggle insecticides nor wizardly charms could keep pests at bay forever. The weather had been cool, though, and the larger scavengers of Diagon Alley, rodents and felines, were easier to bar from the store.

A closer look would be required; it approached and knelt beside the wandmaker. The cause of death was, possibly, blood loss from a gouging wound. There would be no way to inspect the injury itself without throwing off a future investigation, but the blood ... it just didn't seem right. It was enough to kill a frail and aged man, but not enough if that had been the sole cause. Nusbaum had said as much, but had anyone else truly listened?

The flies scattered and quickly regrouped as the inquisitive figure stood. Turning back six days was magical, but it did not magically provide answers. Nor did it provide an infinite amount of time. That was only one of many reasons they did not work alone.

Sending mirrors were impossible to make untraceable. Mobiles didn't work with their masks. A finger tucked under the hidden neck seam and pulled up. As it lifted, the entire façade melted away to reveal the conventional clothing beneath. A quick application of menthol cream under the nose held off some of the stench. She brushed her braid back as she flicked through to the hidden menu. It only rang once. "What is it?" The man's voice was deep and clear.

"Why aren't you using the scrambler?" she admonished him.

He grunted then sighed. She imagined he had just sat up, just started taking the call seriously. The voice scrambler made his excuse sound as if his mask were on, "We already know who each other are."

"My phone could have been compromised."

He didn't give in, "And they found this number how?"

 _"I_ could have been compromised. Answering the way you have, perhaps you have been compromised." This complacency was part of why she'd joined this organisation when she had.

A gravely groan barely came across, "Where did we first meet?"

"Hogwarts Express, too easy. I asked you to help find my cat."

"No." He was weary of these exchanges, "You were trying to find someone's frog or such. I told you I didn't bother with mudbloods or their problems."

"You did not. It was Neville Longbottom, from a well-known, pureblood family. You pointed at him and said -?"

"That you'd already found the toad." He snorted a laugh, "Bee."

"Cee," Hermione confirmed each knew who the other was, and both were in command of themselves. "My time's about to be squeezed."

"Then why are you wasting time with imperius tests? How long?" Cee was already insulted at being corrected, but Hermione did what she could to maintain procedures.

"Imperius tests are never a waste. A little over thirty minutes."

The speaker crackled as it pressed against his face, "Six days then, what's going to happen?"

"Happened," she corrected.

The rubbing stopped, "No, from my perspective, not yours. I don't have to explain this, do -"

 _"Happened,_ already, months ago. But I couldn't risk seven days and have only nine minutes knowing you'd go on like this." Hermione's patience wore.

"Give me a beacon. I'll get my cowl in place." The call dropped.

Hermione pulled the compass from her pocket. She spun the golden needle.

The figure, identical to her when she donned her mask, appeared, "All that and _you_ don't mask before you beacon." Then he noticed the reason for her call, "In Merlin's name! Why didn't you warn me?" He waved his wand to his mask. He mumbled, "Smelling roses and cognac does nothing for what I have to see." He squared himself on the body in question, "Upon the shortest day, the darkest night ... When do they find him?"

"Three days from now, the twenty-fourth."

"What am I- what are any of us supposed to do about this in three days? How does this involve us? Even if it did, this is Ee's area." Cee's foul attitude did not make his questions any less valid.

This was delicate territory, though. Hermione answered carefully, but a bit of anger seeped through regardless, "This coverage was swapped, back in September, the day this happened. The day you had this area."

"No, we -" he turned away from the ugly scene before them. "Dee was here, I called in reserves, you others had your personal interests-"

Hermione's anger was no longer just a front, "You risked our surveillance for your affections. You put Dee on your target and left hers open so you could attend to your own 'personal interest'. We can't say what happened in the gap, and even then you failed to keep track of either of the others. And your reservist botched his role!"

Of course, Cee caught on a certain detail, "Others? The reservist? Is Astoria, or the cambion, involved in this? Dee said the demon -"

She needed him to not focus on that, "We don't know, you lost track of them whilst you mistakenly fancied yourself Lancelot."

The mask shifted as he raised an eyebrow, "I think you've mistaken your Arthurian legends."

"I was referring to the Arthurian _history._ Something you should have read when you were custodian of the library."

Cee stroked his chin, "I do not possess your affinity for dusty tomes in even dustier tombs." No one in the clandestine Department of Mysteries was stupid, nor easily fooled. Cee was no exception, "You aren't telling me something." Nor was he one to forget the nature of their endeavors. He stood at the door, for a better view of the scene, or more distance from the corpse, "Something you can't tell me. Something about this death, or the day of the attack on Missus Malfoy, or Astoria herself."

"This wound, the blood," she knelt down and pointed to the brown-maroon patch amongst the other sickly stains. "It can't be what killed him, yet it must be what we're to think was the cause. It could have been her, as a spitewyrm."

He strummed burlap-clad fingers along his jaw, "The wound ..."

"Too old to relapse, won't tell us anything." Hermione suggested what she knew had to happen (had to have already happened), "Start a cascading recursion. We could go back nearly a month. That would give us a good enough time frame."

He pondered a moment longer, then looked at her directly, "Was there any money in the coin box?"

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow, "No. Or else we would have traced that."

"Look on the backside."

Hermione pulled the drawer out from beneath the counter and turned it around. Just beneath the wood's grain was the outline of an envelope. She sighed and dropped her shoulders, "Bla- You!"

Even through the gravel distortion, he sounded smug, "What? You're the temporal expert. You lectured me on how this works. These events have already occurred. Our path is set." Then, he challenged grimmly, "Have you ever changed someone's fate?"

"Ask Witherwings." Cee wanded the envelope loose, but Hermione snatched it and opened it anyway. "Go on, you can't hear this just yet."

"How badly did _my_ reservist botch this?" Cee was not nearly satisfied. "The Director, he's going to -"

"You assume it's a man?" The director was the only one Hermione had yet to identify. A source of great frustration as the newly appointed director's performance was the primary concern of their shared superiour.

Cee let out a low hiss, "We aren't Swedish, and Hogwarts may have skimped on grammar, but I refuse to use 'they' or 'it' to indicate a singular person."

"Entity, the director might not even be human." Which was another feint: the director was almost assuredly a man, and Hermione had eliminated all non-humans.

The other threw his arms out in exasperation, "I'll write up an explanation and go back as far as I can. What are you going to do?"

She tried to assuage Cee's injured pride, "I don't know, something is off, and I don't have much time until chronal compression. I'll leave this response to your letter at your office for when you're done writing the original." Cee apparated out and left Hermione alone. She muttered as she read, "'C, can confirm time' no - 'managed three weeks back, then' - not important - yes, 'Relapsed the wound - caused by claws, three large, downturned, and one small, upturned, all marks down and to the left, in a straight path - no contraction, marks do not converge. Pattern indicates an instrument rather than an animate appendage. Demon material reacted on attempt to restore. This might have decayed beyond detection by your discovery date. It will persist longer now, but also complicate further attempts to relapse. Beyond this point in time an attempt would have yielded very limited information. I will give orders for B to cover this area at the time in question and to not let you, and therefore me, know about the demon traces. I would not have taken the risk and discovered what I have had I known.'" Hermione smirked in a satisfied, I-told-you-so manner. Had Cee alerted the director about the demon material ... except, the wound was at just the right height for a spitewyrm on all-fours. And caused by an instrument. That ruled out the cambion girl, and Astoria. Which was just as well, as no one had ever even considered her as a suspect.

Hermione used her last minutes in the past to search. She quickly checked the rows and columns of boxed wands, but it was impossible to tell if a single wand was out of place with only a cursory examination. The workbench in the rear was orderly, all the tools in assigned spots, unicorn hairs laid out in a wicker basket, dark fluid sloshed in a large bottles labelled as various dragonhearts, along with elk horn, elmwood, cherry, mahogany, and several other woods. Hermione chanced a careful look out the curtained windows, but was quick to surrender at the sight of holiday shoppers.

The time turner shivered on her waist; the "squeeze" threatened. She replicated her previous pose, the charms she'd woven allowed her positioning to be precise. In her thumbs, she held each end of the hourglass's chain. A practiced tug started it spinning to return her whence she came, a portal to the present. A portal: she took one last glance at the door, and realised what she had never noticed before.

Sam

Brown-and-creepy's head faced to the side. No, not just "faced", but instantly snapped towards the door, like the video of life had just been remixed. "What the hell was that?!" Sam demanded.

Slowly, and all the more creepily, it turned back to her, "Hell indeed." It looked back at the frame around the shop door.

The embarrassing reminder distracted Sam (slightly), "What, the detector thing?"

"'Detector thing'? How did you know? It would not serve much purpose if it alerted its subject." It stood before the doorframe and waved a hand as one would to open an automatic door. Nothing happened.

Sam clarified, "No, when me and Skein, when my mom and me were here, the guy, Ollivander, he acted like, he knew what we were, _are,_ and looked at that." Sam made a mental note: this person wasn't a wainscot warrior (exclusively mage raised) - he or she was used to automatic doors.

The painted-over scene was intricately carved, but even close examination did not reveal its hidden purpose. On the left, a cliff jutted out from a forest where a wolf howled before the full moon. Above the jagged outcropping was a cave with a cloaked figure, a swarm of bats setting to flight behind. At the base stood a tomb, the gate swung open, a hand outstretched from the gloom. A creek crossed the corner where a swimming serpent had a human face. In the hovel at center top, a seemingly liquid-skinned child was perched to leap from the window. Woods resumed before the far joint, where a gaunt figure lurked behind a tree. Below that, yet atop the foilage, was a woman perched in the highest branches. Lines traced back from her form to the outline of a small bird. It was a clever depiction of an animagus - for a carving. But Sam couldn't appreciate it much, as she fixated on the man above. As if his horns, fangs, wings, scaled skin and glowing red eyes were not clue enough, he held a pitchfork to the side. Sam thought to herself _At least it doesn't have hooves!_

Scratchy creaked, "Utility obscured as decor." It opened the door a crack, "Mister Potter, approach, but do not enter."

Wet footsteps splashed, "I hear you. You haven't much time until -"

"I've used all the time I had, I ask of yours now." It kept its gaze on the ornate carving as it pulled back, opened the door fully, and triggered the bell-chime.

Chief Auror Potter entered hastily. Sam gasped. In small part because Severus' dad (and the highest law enforcement official in Great Britain) was there (with Sam popped from her cell), but more so due to the change he caused. "What is she doing here?" he hissed.

The burlap-cloaked wizard rasped, "To gauge her reaction to the scene. To find a clue to what I was missing, and there it is." It traced the doorway's edge.

The source of Sam's astonishment did not have as much an impact on Potter. It was no different for all he knew. Whereas Sam saw the demon AND the child depiction were similarly plain now, the hand in the tomb glowed white, the bars around it a muted gold through the flimsy layers of paint.

"How many times have we Britons entered this shop, never noticing, never paying heed to such age-old means of warning?" The unknown wizard turned directly to Mister Potter, "Your Miss Granger would likely declare such a humanist measure illegal had her psyche not fractured -"

"That's enough!" He was offended, but quickly came back to the matter at hand, "What does it mean?"

Sam responded meekly, "You're undead."

The raspy chuckle cut in, "Nothing so dramatic, but the girl is close to the mark." It pointed and listed off from left, up, and to right, "Werewolf, vampire, risen, naga, doppleganger or metamorph, demon, animagus, and lamia." (the last a weird cat-dog thing) "You, Chief Potter, did not trigger it from without, only on entry." It waved the Chief Auror aside as it beckoned Sam forward. She was hesitant to comply. The effects of being near the masked figure made Sam's lack of confidence meaningless. Might as well do as she was told. Sam didn't bother to watch for a change as she approached. She continued until the doorframe obscured her view. "There," it croaked, "Cambion seen as part demon, part shapeshifter. The device's range and perception are limited. Your relationship with death has triggered it, as well, Potter." Sam backed up as she was directed. Several feet away, the uncomfortable sensation of doubt reassured her that she was beyond the aura of complacency. She thought, once again, to catalog anything that might give away the brown cloaked investigator's identity.

It turned to the Chief Auror, "Your hand, I have something for you." Did he put his hand out because he trusted it, or because he couldn't help but trust it? (not a very telling clue) It wound up something from its waist, cupped Mr. Potter's hand from beneath with its left hand, and placed the item in his palm with its right. "I need you to go back, where no one will see," it indicated the back of the store with a nod, "and see what you can. Careful of who may be about, but be certain to give that dear boy outside reason to leave us a clear path." It opened its grasp just enough.

Whatever it was, it gave Mr. Potter only a small shock, "How many-?"

"Your people have had three days, Chief Auror. You recall how this works, or shall I show you again?"

"Again?" His tone softened, "I didn't reali-"

"Of course you didn't, that's the point. Go back, half as far as you can, we'll remain here. Lest the door be unsecure as Mister Lupin left it."

Sam wasn't sure what Mr. Potter was supposed to find in the rear of the shop. As if he and his people hadn't already been there, done that.

The Chief Auror stalked off. In less than a minute he was back, and angry, "It wasn't me." What wasn't him? Regardless, it was hard to believe that he found anything so quickly, and whatever it was he somehow had not seen it before. Worst of all, why had it upset him so? "Cattermole - Reginald should know about this."

"And how would you explain my methods? Would a bereaved matriarch listen? Where was the dial?"

"Like I said before - told - it was at the tomb to start."

The response was abrupt, yet considered, "I thought as much, and I would not trust such declaration from any other. Occam's razor, or Doyle's deduction, Miss Witherspoon did not do this, but our list of alternate suspects has just narrowed improbably ... and impossibly."

"But-"

"Your meal will be delivered soon, some procedures are more strictly adhered to than others, your absence will be noted." The unknown mage ushered Sam down the stairs, though all but one of the elevators were open.

"But you know it wasn't me!" Sam whined back over her shoulder. She should be more upset, but ... something about Scratchy, being near ...

They continued down the narrow stone passage to the jail. Just inside, a burlap hand turned Sam around, "And what proof is there of that? An old piece of decor? It changes for you, it changes for the Chief Auror. Auror-in-training Lupin will have set if off."

It made sense and at the same time confused Sam, "Then back at ... then how do you know -?"

A more familiar voice offered, "Some see fetid lies beneath the mask of truth, as others find rot in the whitest tooth." The small, barred window obscured all but Sakeena's face. She closed her bright crimson eyes and inhaled, "A wrinkle in the sands, a change to nature's flow," her red eyes flashed and faded, "Spin your tale as you spin your hands. Now tell me, when did you go?"

"Mom, cut it out!" Sam was more anxious at how her mother spoke rather than what was meant, which she ( _still_ ) didn't quite understand. "It was 'bout an hour ago now"

Sakeena smiled, warm and threatening at once, "Beneath such guise may hide even a royal of Sicily, but I beg forgive me, stranger. I resort to old habits easily."

"Mom!"

The smile faded, and the tone cooled to match, "Your name."

The masked mage answered, "The who is not so important as the why. I seek the truth of Ollivander's death, and if it aids, your daughter's alibi."

"She did not do it, there should be no evidence otherwise."

"I thought you'd understand better in verse: this is a game none would choose, for the house to win someone must lose. Were the dealer aloof, her decision not made, I would rest on the cards we've already been played."

"Why?" Sakeena asked simply.

"As I said, I seek the truth."

"No, why is she decided so?"

Scratchy thought it over, "She seeks revenge against the only ones left free, two generations she's lost. Your daughter's not the target, just an incidental cost ... I must show that the living may not pose so much danger as the dead."

Sakeena's red eyes narrowed, "And what, or who, do you mean by that?"

"A name, I fear, that must not yet be said."


	10. Chapter 46-50

Ch 46 Inadmissible

Scorpius

"Do you think she did it?" _The Daily Prophet_ implied no such uncertainity:

 **Demon-Girl Revealed,**

 **Wandmaker Murdered!**

Scorpius, however, thought it more prudent to ask first. Besides, it wasn't the only question he had for his mother.

Astoria rolled her chair back from the kitchen computer, "I - this is a serious discussion, isn't it? Give me a moment, I'm not your father." She clasped her hands in front of her lips and thought. "No." She swivelled to face him and took a breath. "No, I cannot say I know her the way you do, but ... no, she wouldn't do it."

Perhaps his mother was not as accustomed to the debates Scorpius had more often with Mr Malfoy, but Father was at the office (while Mrs Malfoy did her work at home). Regardless, Scorpius pressed on, "She burned off a man's arm. If you don't know her so well, why did you invite her to stay with us? You knew what she was."

Astoria slid the chair to sit alongside her son. She brushed his hair and held his cheek as she grinned wistfully, "You've grown so much." She caressed his face with her thumb, "Would you have me sleep somewhere else?" Her voice was soft with concern.

It softened Scorpius' response in kind, "No." His mother let her hand rest on the table.

She took a moment before she continued, "But you know I can turn into a dragon, a spitewyrm may be relatively small, but it's a dragon none-the-less. I didn't know what Sam was when I met her."

Scorpius answered with measured confidence, "If you weren't my mother I'd be hard pressed to invite you in ... knowing that. And you _did_ know what she was when you invited her here."

Astoria heaved and sighed, "But by then I knew - by then I already liked her. We had a shared ... experience. Surviving something like that often brings people together, " her tone descended into annoyance, "I think it's the sole basis of some people's relationships."

Scorpius' face pinched in frustration, "That's not relevant, you're not supposed to distract - _digress_ like that."

His mother pursed her lips, "You're right. I know, Draco's better at this." Scorpius nodded reluctantly, but also reached out to grasp Astoria's hand and reassure her. She squeezed back then sat up and primped her attire (a quite thick and comfortable, not-at-all office-worthy jumper and sweat pants). She held her head high, grabbed the arms of her chair and appeared ready to respond formally. Until she lowered her head slightly and made a ridiculous effort of scooting her chair around the table. After a precise turn, she continued her exaggerated scramble to reach the opposite position from Scorpius. Both mother and son made a paltry effort to suppress their smiles and giggles as Astoria sat straight again and touched at the many wayward strands from her ponytail in a futile gesture to tame them. As their amusement subsided, she stated warmly, "I didn't know what she was when I met her-"

"But-"

Astoria slowly blinked and splayed out her hand just above the table, "When I met her, what I knew was that she was not from Hogwarts: uniform, accent, and such. She was at least vaguely interested in the zoo, as we were the only ones there that don't reside there. And Gretchen was excited to see her, can you suggest a better character reference?" Mother and son both smirked at this semi-serious point. "Then I had a moment to connect the other clues I had: that she was the girl my son had told me did not have a wand, and my son's friend had written was staying in her room."

"Leilianna wrote to you about Samantha?" Scorpius was surprised, but quickly realised he should not have been; Lila was rather taken with the rebellious American.

Astoria made a deliberate nod, "Yes, however, before I made sense of all the implications, this girl recognised me."

This was of even more concern, "She knew you were my mother?"

Mrs Malfoy made an equally deliberate, single shake of her head, "No. That was what was especially ..." She trailed off in search of the correct word, or words as it happened, "Noteworthy, distracting, endearing? I think we all want to be known for our own accomplishments, and that's all the much rarer from children, to whom we adults are so often nothing more than someone else's parent. But Samantha knew me as Astoria Greengrass: cryptozoologist, confuser of muggles, informer to wizards." She snorted, "And those programs were from before she was born."

Scorpius was slightly offended, "I've seen them."

Astoria sucked at her lips and made a sort of bubbling squeak, "Rather to be expected from one's own son, not so of a stranger. And I had _expected_ , your father and I had planned it, that you two would come find me after the tour of the castle, but ... this was a way out, a way to leave that place behind me and help this girl who also faced her first year without a wand, just as I had." She looked off to the side and quickly defended her comparison, "Later it became obvious that was for entirely different reasons, but still."

Neither said anything for nearly a minute. When Scorpius did speak, it was with care and consideration, "So ... you met someone with similarities in history, and similar interests, whom you could help. That's understandable and respectable." Then the disappointment crept into his voice, "But why did you continue to - why did you invite her into our home when you knew she was a dem- half-demon?"

His mother reached across the table, her hands open to receive his, "And her mother, a full demon. And your father a Death Eater, as his father was, and all your grandparents were allied to. And me."

He leapt up and seized his mother's hands as he challenged her, "What about you? You never did any of those things!"

Astoria exhorted her son, "Scorpius. The paper accuses Sam of taking a man's life. Yet there's no question what I did that same day." Scorpius hadn't thought of it that way, in fact, he had avoided thinking of that day at all. His face fell as his hands went limp. His mother's hands grasped back tightly, "You don't like her because she's broken rules, gotten into fights, and behaves poorly in class?"

"Well -"

"I've bad news for you about your role models."

Scorpius sighed, "Father was -"

Astoria tilted her head down and grinned, "Your father? I was talking about Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley," she paused briefly, "Not sure about Longbottom, I didn't realise his name was anything more than one of Snape's insults until my fifth year - that oh-so-important year. Though, it's nice to hear you consider your own father someone to look up to. Even after this solstice."

He was hurt by the implication, "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I? He was angry, but not at _us_. I should have warned Severus to not remove the inserts."

His mother was more solemn, "But he does get angry. And he warns you, so often, of who he was, how others think of him, of us. And he's not wrong. And I know these floors and walls aren't thick enough to have guarded you from - when he ... _discussed_ things with his mother, with Narcissa."

Scorpius didn't expect mention of his grandmother's name. Nor did he expect the flow of tears that followed. He did not notice his mother's rapid return to his side until her arms were around him.

"Is that what this is about? Cissy's ..." Astoria stopped avoiding it, "It's all right. It's been a year, but, no, it will never have been long enough to not miss her."

Scorpius answered in disjointed sobs, "A year on Monday - and you boxed her things - and she -" he jabbed his finger at the unmagically still ID photo below the headline, "SHE was in her room - doesn't even know who Cissy is." His chin stopped trembling and he sank in his mother's arm, "Was!" He drew his knees up and curled into a ball in the chair.

It was unclear how much time passed until Astoria spoke, "New Year's will never be the same for our little family, will it?" Scorpius shook his head in agreement. His mother concluded, "Well, then, we're practically pagans already, we'll just have to re-declare April first as New Year's day."

Scorpius gasped a laugh. The break in crying allowed him a sniffle and a wipe at his nose, "We'll all be fools." He looked up to see thin streaks on his mother's cheeks.

Astoria smiled and cupped her son's chin, "Indeed, we've played the part of scorned villains for too long, let us be fools instead." They both sniffed a chuckle as they wiped at their faces. "You're in character every day at the castle, aren't you?" Scorpius nodded. "And I brought the audience behind the curtain, into our only refuge. You don't really think Samantha killed the wandmaker, do you?"

"No. She's a bother, but ... no." He snorted again to clear his nose, "I just ... I expected -" Scorpius made certain to avoid the word "plan". "I expected it to be just you and Father. I knew you wouldn't want to talk about Hogwarts. I knew he wouldn't want to discuss Grandmother, but -"

His mother drew him closer and tucked his head beneath hers, "You'd have time alone with each of us, and you'd have the chance to get everything out." Astoria backed up and raised Scorpius' eyes to her, "You know - I hope you know, or, accept, there were some other ... factors in play."

It seemed like a change of subject, but Scorpius was not going to object, he just wanted to understand what his mother was talking about, "Factors?"

She sighed and unconsciously brushed back a few scattered hairs, "Sam, the bedroom, our family." Astoria waited a moment to see if it would sink in. It did not. "I - your father and I, a bit more me though - He was an only child, you know that, as was his father."

Scorpius strained to follow and was overly formal as a result, "I didn't know that about Grandfather, but I accept that it is true."

Mother chuckled at the stiff response, still in the fashion of his father's and his serious discussions. "And I know my family shouldn't be an indication of anyone else's. Narcissa's relationship with her sisters went through its ups and downs."

Scorpius did his best to demonstrate he understood, "Mister and Missus Tonks were kind to come to the memorial, their grandson, too. He was also very kind."

Astoria smiled broadly and chuckled quietly, "Yes, yes they are. But Sam represented something else when I met her: a chance, a chance for me to see how I dealt with a female youth of a sentient species."

Scorpius furrowed his brow, "Lila -"

"Is far too well-behaved. Between the letters from the two of you I knew that was not the case with Samantha. And either way, I wanted to get started on the room before I spend the next three months taking an hour just to get started on breakfast."

Scorpius smirked at the thought of his father's teasing stories from when Mrs Malfoy couldn't keep down her food down before. It was suddenly clear, "You're pregnant!"

His mother opened her eyes wide, "I felt I'd passed the test of quarreling children ..." She looked aside and raised her eyebrows, "And I 'failed' the test I took this morning." That part confused Scorpius, but his mother reassured him, "Yes, I'm pregnant. We won't know if that means a little brother or sister for a while yet."

He took his turn to reassure her, "Either way, we'll already have parents that care enough to test themselves with the worst child in the world." He hugged her tightly about the neck as he giggled.

Astoria scoffed, "You're the worst in the world?"

He pushed off playfully, "No, Witherspoon. Worst in the Northern hemisphere then," he teased.

"No!"

"English speaking nations?"

"I doubt it."

"At Hogwarts."

"Not likely, not even in Slytherin."

"In our year."

"MAY-be."

P. Patil

Wizard or muggle, it didn't matter, humans were creatures of habit. Habits, routines, schedules, they'll get you killed.

"Mister Cattermole," Patil announced herself.

He panicked. Why? He decided to wait for his wife here. Decided to save himself the cost of a _Prophet_ by reading the waiting room copy. "Miss Patil." He set the paper aside easier than he did his fear.

The headline stood out to her, "You believe that?"

"I -" he tried to answer

Patil didn't really care what he had to say, though, "I remember when the best way to know a lie was to read it as a _Prophet_ headline."

The prosecutor relaxed slightly and nodded.

"Last Death Eater captured, ha!" A chill ran through her. She knew what she shouldn't do. It didn't stop her from doing it. Patil was screwing the cap back on before her throat felt the burn. "Wasn't really captured, though, was he? And he certainly wasn't the last." She tossed the files down on top of the newspaper.

His routine already broken, he was no good at hiding his reactions. As he flipped through the papers from his office he was: Shocked, "How did you -?" Worried, "No, I didn't -" Angry, "What do you mean by this?"

Merlin, it made you question free will. "You went easy on them back then. Dust hadn't even settled and everyone was back to tracing their wands around their own interests. But this man Cattermole, this peon from Maintenance, no, not him. Called for temperance, not mercy, but level-headed justice." The little speech gave him time to review the files, to think about it, maybe see they were even in the same order he'd had them. Let that worm its way into him.

"I - No point in saving our society just to destroy it by sacrificinng our values."

Patil smirked, "Didn't hurt in the least when Potter backed you up."

He shook his head, "No. I don't mind admitting, even twenty years my junior, I admire him."

She scoffed, "As if that's a confession ... these days. How about you admit something else? How about ..." He knew it by now, what she was after. "How about you tell me why you're not calling for temperance now. Where's the level-headed justice this time?"

He swallowed. Thinking up a lie? No, thinking how much he can get away with not saying. How much of it will hurt to admit. He glanced to the clock. His wife would get off work soon. No one else was in the St Mungo's Routine Care waiting room, but they didn't have long. "What else can I do at this point? I've already denied cross examination." Admitting nothing that wasn't known.

Except that he's scared, so scared even an obvious solution eluded him. "A new witness, allow Sun her questions this time."

"But how? She won't let -" Nearly an admission as to who had him before the wand.

A distraction, "Runcorn's dead." A reminder of how principled he'd been.

Shock again, "What? When? Does his daughter-?"

"Doesn't matter. 'She'? An old woman, burdened by age and grief. What does that mean against the fair-minded reputation of our most even-handed and respected prosecutor?"

Was he really concerned over the news of the Death Eater's fate? Or worried over his own potential fate, his own muddled past. "Who do I call on?" Threatened, used, manipulated, and turned, quick as a Welsh Green. Granger needed to finish playing around and get back to her own department, get it back in line.

A door closed down the hall, well wishes were exchanged, soft shoes tread on tiled floors. She couldn't risk being overheard by Mrs Cattermole, nor being misunderstood by the prosecutor. "What wouldn't a parent do for for their children?" She had another shudder, but, this time, not another drink.

Ch 47 To Bear Witness

Sam

"Beyond a reasonable doubt" was the phrase that kept going through Sam's mind. The wound may or may not have been the cause of death. There was a lot of time for someone else to have come and gone. Was there even a discussion of motive? Then the one thought swept the others away, _I'm not human._

Mr. Stansfield was there to bring her to the courtroom. "Not up for bangers and mash?" His tone was jovial, much happier than Sam's.

She did nothing to hide how forlorn she felt, "You want my breakfast instead? I got sausage and mash - oh, that's what 'bangers and mash' means, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Don't give up just yet, got some good news, potenti'ly want to tell Cho, too, though."

Mrs. Sun was just outside the courtroom, appearing stern rather than upbeat. "I think I have some good news."

For some reason that disappointed Stansfield, "He came through already then?"

Cho ushered them both inside, "Cattermole told you? He swore _me_ to secrecy."

"Cattermole? No-" but Mr. Stansfield was cut off.

"Come on, he's going to have to jump the hex to make this happen."

Inside, the prosecutor and magistrate were close to each other, their conversation hushed. Sam and Cho were early to the proceeding, but Sam felt like she was late in figuring out what was going on. Cattermole pointed at Mrs. Sun, "Weasley has his part covered, it's up to Bones now."

 _Wasn't it always?_ Sam wondered. She'd have said it aloud, but the adults' odd behavior gave her hope this would turn out better than she feared.

"I beg the Wizengamot's attention!" The prosecutor announced before the shadowed assembly had even finished entering the room.

The Head Warlock's reaction was both annoyed and curious, "What say you, Mister prosecutor?"

Sam was quite certain she had not gotten to know this man in the past few days, yet, with the same level of certainty she knew something about him was different today. He declared, "The prosecution calls on Sakeen ul-Sahera."

The one visible representative hesitated before giving in, "It was previously decided that if the demoness were to testify, she must be compelled, and that as compulsion was unacceptable to the defence, she would therefore not take the stand."

Mr. Cattermole did not hesitate to respond, "As a witness for the defence, but not for the prosecution."

Bones was unconvinced. She answered haltingly, "That was not - the meaning of my decision was - you may not question this witness, under compulsion, unless the defence acquiesces. Having been refused cross examination of your witnesses, I see no reason Miss Sun would do so."

Sam wasn't sure that was for the best or not. Her mother had lapsed into rhyming the night before, a manner she adopted for scheming and deceiving. Such schemes rarely turned out well for mortals.

Thoughts and worries distracted her from the exchanged glances of the attorneys that argued both for and against her. Thus, it was unexpected when Cho voiced her agreement, "The defence acquiesces to the compelled questioning of the witness."

Was everyone else shocked into silence? Mr. Stansfiled cleared his throat and dismissed that illusion. It did not succeed in forcing a reply from the one that needed to answer, though. The few moments hung interminably. "You will not be able to examine the witness yourself without Mister Cattermole's permission, Miss Sun."

Sun nodded, "The court has made that quite clear."

Mrs. Bones turned to the magistrate, "Mister Weasley, how much time will you need?"

Mr. Weasley bowed slightly, "The circle to hold and compel the demon is set."

It had been suggested by the prosecution, agreed to by her own lawyer, and prepared by the government's agent. None of that reassured Sam as much as the old woman's annoyance. The three had conspired and prepared without her. Except ... had any of them bothered to secure Sakeena's cooperation?

"State your name." The direction was simple.

The answer was not, "A different name this time, this place, you may well ask if this be my one true face."

Sam tensed up, _Rhyming equals scheming equals bad._ The oath had been ordered by the magistrate vice affirmed by Sakeena. That meant her mother would be honest, not that she would tell them what they wanted.

Cattermole must have suspected as much. He rephrased his direction wearily, "Tell the court the name by which you claim custodianship of the accused, your daughter."

Disappointment crossed the demon's eyes, "Sakeen us-Suhwhura." From difficult to easy. Sam couldn't read her mother's mind, but her face, her posture ... the red glint of her eyes. She leaned to one arm and sat back, casual, cold and composed. "But I would advise you, Reginald, all the same, linguistic rules allow for just 'Sakeena' to be my name."

Sam was not the only one disconcerted by her mother's speech pattern, "The prosecution requests the witness be instructed to respond without rhyming."

 _And the use of the prosecutor's first name?_

Bones nodded, as both answer and direction. Magistrate Weasley held tight to his podium and declared, "Respond in plain speech, no rhymes."

Sakeena flinched, her eyes closed. They revealed again in bright crimson, but it faded just as quickly. "As you command."

Sam desperately clutched at Mrs. Sun's sleeve. "No," Sam gasped quietly. The barrister looked to her client with concern, but Sam was afraid to speak her thought, _Now Mom will be even worse!_

Unaware of the defendant's fear, the prosecutor went on, "You've made claim that you know whether your daughter did or did not murder Wandmaster Garrick Ollivander. Is that true?"

"It is true my daughter did not murder Garrick Ollivander." Sakeena smiled brightly and turned to the judge, "There, I'm under a compulsion to tell the truth and so I have. Samantha is not guilty. Such an elegant solution, Mister Cattermole." She braced herself to stand.

No one was swayed, much less Mr. Cattermole, "The compulsion you are under requires you to state what you believe to be true. Please, for the record, state that water is dry."

Sakeena's whimsical smile evaporated. She composed herself and stated flatly, "Water is d-" She blinked as she faltered. "Water is d-" she tried again. Determined, she blurted out, "Water is damp! There, see, I _must_ tell the truth." The demoness sighed in surrender and reclined into the high-backed chair.

"And are you _certain_ your daughter-"

Weaker than before, she admitted, "I told you I could provide information that would convince you Samantha should not be a suspect." Sakeena glowered at no one in particular.

The courtroom fell silent along with the witness. Cattermole shook off whatever he had been thinking, "And that information?"

"Excuse me?" Sam's mother appeared unaware of what the prosecutor wanted.

He became agitated in response, "You said you had information to clear Miss Witherspoon of these charges. How do you know she is not guilty?"

Sakeena narrowed her eyes and scowled, "How else would I know, human?"

"Nooo-o-o-o." Sam whimpered.

Her mother's eyes darted a moment, not quite to her daughter. Cho had similarly started to turn her attention to Sam when Sakeena announced, "Who does this simpering, fretful woman think she is to use my progeny as some proxy to assuage her fears of her fitness as a mother? A wand - does she think **my** offspring, one more powerful and better learned than any feeble excuse at Hogwarts, that she truly needs a wand? It's difficult to decide which is worse with you humans: your pride or your ability to delude yourselves. Likely the one trait bolsters the other."

Cattermole jumped in on the brief pause, "The woman, you mean Astoria Malfoy?"

Sakeena rolled her eyes, "Astoria Malfoy 'escorted' us to the wandmaker's shop." She licked her lips. "As Samantha has surely told you, the decrepit wizard was aquiver with anticipation. He could barely contain himself over what she represented: a child, young and vibrant. Quite the operation he made for himself, always in contact with the youngest of your Wizarding world. No need to wonder if he was invested in the decision to lower your wand fittings to a nascent seven years."

"Keep -" Cattermole, as everyone else, was shocked at what had been said. He barely finished his instruction, "Keep your testimony to the events in question. What happened after you arrived at wandmaster Ollivander's store?"

Sakeena scoffed, "Ha! It was all too late by the time I reached the door."

Cattermole was now more sincerely confused, "The door?"

"Quite the hypocrisy, using such means to out others as he maintained the age old lies of his ancestors, a discerning dial framed about his door. I am obliged by previous agreement to vouchsafe mine and my daughter's nature. Already I was thwarted by his medieval meddling. His time was nigh."

Percy Weasley spoke up, "As I sent to the court, the Aurors reported the presence of the device this morning."

Mrs. Bones turned her glare from Sam's mother to Mr. Weasley, "Yes, but what does this 'discerning dial' do, Magistrate?"

Instead of answering immediately he took a step towards the judge and handed her a bound scroll, "So far, the Aurors have determined it detects various shapeshifters, vampires, demons." He then offered one to the prosecutor, and quickly gave another to Mrs. Sun. All the while, careful to avoid the witness. "It is also believed capable of identifying, err, those who have returned from the dead."

Bones could have barely read a line before she set aside her reading glasses in a huff, "Returned from the dead?!"

Mr. Weasley replied crisply, "As Chief Auror Potter has done and was so indicated by the device within the door frame. He said they would not have noticed the changes beneath the paint had there not been himself and Auror-in-training Lupin, a metamagus, there to trigger it."

Sakeena appeared uninterested, "For as little time as you mortals possess you so often squander it on the dullest of details."

At first, it seemed the prosecutor would prompt the testimony to continue, but instead it was the judge, "The witness shall proceed."

"As I was saying, the wizened mortal paid all too much attention to my young girl, and he knew the truth of my guise. That should have been enough to warn him off from such desires. He did seem to focus, instead, on how the wand would be made. At that point I knew, of course, I could secure a moment or more alone with this wandmaster."

Sam had a glimmer of hope when Cattermole gave voice to his doubt, "And how did you know that?"

"Simply, simpleton. It would be a wand for a cambion, no random trial and error as with human wands. As I'd seen before, it would require a hair from her head, the bone from her infernal parent, and a human soul to bind the demonic material to this plane. I saw where I could contribute two of those elements. I was certain the girl could provide the hair on her own."

Through the worry, something nagged at Sam.

"And per Missus Malfoy's testimony, you were left alone with Mister Ollivander," Mr. Cattermole clarified.

Sakeena acted as if it were all-too-boring, "He was so eager, the hair already laid in a box, as if I would let him cut my flesh or take of this body. He knew his death was near." She snorted a chuckle, "He just hadn't thought it would be at my hand." She swept her clawed fingers up as she curled all but one into her palm. That one she laid on her tongue as she licked up to the tip then held it on her upper lip, before drawing her tongue back between long, pointed canines. "It's been centuries since I've dined on one of you."

The prosecutor shook. He demanded, "What of your contract that prohibits you from harming mortals?!"

Sakeena smirked, "What of the exception in the case of a threat against the child?"

Cattermole hammered back, "What threat? She was safely out of the store -"

"Safe? Do you consider being the assault on her evidence she was 'safe'?"

"Which would account for an attack on one Gregory Goyle, perhaps his accomplices, but not Garrick Ollivander."

Sakeena leaned forward and grimaced, "After what happened to her in America when she was revealed: forced to change homes, attending that razorwire-wrapped school, the threats, the harassment, the attacks - you truly think I would allow that to happen to one of mine again? Or that I would take the word of an aged pederast to keep her secret? It was a stroke of luck the contract allowed me time alone with the old man. I'm not permitted alone with any human in a residence ... but he dwelled in the loft above." she laughed, low and dry, "And did not live in the shop below. Not much longer anyways."

The prosecutor remained unsatisfied, "Demonic material, it deteriorates, there should not have been any left to find in Ollivander's wound, unless -"

Sam's mother cocked her head to the side and prompted, "Unless what, Mister Cattermole?"

Sam wasn't sure why the prosecutor doubted her mother's guilt by this point, but Sam wished he would keep on doubting. He seemed defeated though, "Unless ... was wandmaster Ollivander dead when you left his store?"

Sakeena blinked deliberately, "His death was imminent, his soul would soon pass. My business concluded, I had to be on my way. I'd feared giving in to the demands of raising a half-human child would make me soft and careless. I just didn't think it would happen so soon."

Sam leapt up, "Mom! Stop it!" She could no longer restrain herself.

Someone else could though. Sakeena's eyes burned, "Silence, thrall!"

The feeling was akin to fetching a warm blanket from a forgotten hiding place. It was comfortable, simple for Sammy to give in to her mother. She could feel her own thoughts pushed back as someone else took control. But it had been so long since this had happened, and like a worn and aged bedcover, it felt off, wrong. The soothing companionship of yesteryear was tainted with an alien chill. Yet it was still all too easy to not resist.

While Sam calmly resumed her seat, her mother reared up, emerald flame ringed her form. Sam's body called up the same eldritch fire to surround herself. The courtroom fell to chaos.

"Magistrate!" Bones yelled as she grasped the bench before and beside her. The shadows of the assembly behind her writhed and gasped.

Cattermole clutched about himself, perhaps in search of a rarely used wand. "Percy, do something!"

Weasley traced the lines of the parchment before him uneasily between anxious glances at the judge, the prosecutor, and the witness.

Sun was similarly silent, but not so uncertain. She removed the bottle from her open briefcase. The cap remained whole as the bottle was crushed between her palm and the table. Most of the pills scattered, several were broken. Cho managed to retain a few before her wand emitted a silver swan. It flapped its wings, throwing the table into the rails and blocking the view between Sakeena and them. Sun swiftly, yet softly, pressed the pills to Sam's lips, ignoring the glowing fire. They were moist with the same liquid they contained. "Swallow."

The upturned table cut off Sam from the sight of her mother, but she could still feel the frozen presence in her mind. Had the human woman thought it would be so easy? Yet Sam tried. She felt her mouth open, her tongue pull the medicine back. It trickled and stumbled down her throat. The effect was swift; the chill left her, the cold flames flickered out. The table teetered and fell, joining its former contents on the stone floor. The swan settled beside its master.

"I command you to release the girl! You are to say and do nothing more!" Mr. Weasley had taken a few seconds to find his determination or, more importantly, the right wording. Precise wording was essential with demons.

Sam's attention fell to the overturned table, the papers that fluttered down beside it. Beyond that, her mother sat unnaturally still and Sam saw her more clearly than ever before. The threat in the outstretched and blackened claw, the cruel twist of her face, the gleaming inhuman eyes, the monster that Sammy's mother had always warned her of.

Sam was jostled about among the adults. The narrow hall was crowded, she wasn't quite sure who had left or stayed. Sun held Sam's hand tight as the men fell awkwardly to the benches.

"Jesus Christ!" Stansfield yelped as he clutched his chest.

"What was that?!" Cho challenged Cattermole.

He righted himself physically, but was still confused mentally, "G-suss-crikes? I have no idea!"

The barrister shook her head and pointed her wand at Stansfield, "Not that!" She backed away from the door and slapped it with the wand, "THAT! Was that your plan? To let her mother take the blame instead?"

The prosecutor was slightly more certain in this regard, "It - no, I, she said - I HAD to use a witness that hadn't been called so you could redirect, I HAD to call **her!"**

"You think I can redirect THAT?" And as she asked, the Chief Auror pushed behind Mrs. Sun, "Harry!" She grabbed his leather jacket. The silver swan squawked in kind.

Rather than break free, he swung himself against the wall, making room for the three people following close behind. Sam recognized two of them: Teddy Lupin and the woman that had come that night, the one with the ethereal porcupine. The Chief Auror grasped Mrs. Sun's hand to release her grasp, "No time, Cho. You could have handled this." He eyed the shimmering spectre.

"A single patronus would have only broken the circle."

Potter snapped, "Good thing we brought three." He turned from her glare and grabbed the door, "Barry left, Maisie right, Ted, clear the hall." The three dived in with a chorus of _Expecto Patronum!_ Sam flinched instinctively despite the large bird already being just to Sun's other side.

Teddy Lupin closed the door and looked about uncertainly, "Err, I'm gonna have to, I mean, for safety's sake -"

"What did you think was going to happen?" Mrs. Sun turned back on Mr. Cattermole, uninterested in what the junior Auror had to say.

Stansfield was more concerned about what might follow them out of the court, "Don't you think we should do as the young man says and -?"

Lupin smiled briefly at the support, "Yes, if you would -"

"Excuse me." No robe, not even a suit like Stansfield's, and even if appearance wasn't to be relied upon, his voice definitely meant he was not British. He raised his eyebrows at the lack of response. "Major Vasquez, United States Consulate, Foreign Area Officer, one of you represents Miss Witherspoon?"

Cho answered suspiciously, "Yes, and - What do you want?"

The Major answered with his own hint of doubt, "Extradition. I spoke to a Robert Stansfield. No offense, miss, is this a barrister/solicitor situation? I'm no JAG, but I have more than a passing knowledge of the British legal system."

The only change was Sun's attention to Stansfield, "Was this what you were on about?"

He nodded, "Right. Even though the agreement with the Ministry binds Miss Witherspoon to any decisions made against her in Britain doesn't mean she has to wait until said judgment is made. Dealing with all this Wizengamot nonsense distracted me from the basics. I don't remember what it was, but something reminded me yesterday and-"

The Army officer nodded, "Yes. Miss Witherspoon is a US citizen, and a minor. While these charges are serious, I think both parties can be satisfied by a joint investigation and an open, though American, trial."

"What about Mom?!" Sam barked.

Major Vasquez hesitated, "Your mother's status is -"

"Illegal? Because it sure as hell ain't undocumented!" Sam clutched her head against the effects of her pills. Pained, she tried to explain, "Mom's supposed to be allowed to come back. She didn't do anything!"

The courtroom door burst outward and threw Lupin crashing into Cattermole. The door opened, slammed, and was blocked in a flash. "What are you doing here? She's out of control! If you're going to go, you need to go now!" It was the Magistrate.

"Mom?" Sam asked tremulously. "She-"

The older Weasley corrected, "Your mother? No, she was already under command to cause no harm, I shouldn't have panicked, but I mean Bones. She's fuming, about to declare judgment but she needs you two present to do that."

Lupin and Cattermole had barely disentangled. The prosecutor straightened his robes, "She called us back in? I guess we should -"

"You'll do no such thing! Lupin cleared you out of the hall and I couldn't find you." The Magistrate stated insistently. "We didn't arrange all this for nothing!"

Sun pulled Stansfield to his feet and addressed the American, "She's already on her medication." She sounded defeated.

The Major nodded, "This sounds like an internal issue. We'll see our way out." He grasped Sam by the shoulder and turned them down the hall, Cho and the others (save Lupin) shortly behind them.

Sam couldn't just leave though. She wormed to the side of the hall. "What - why are you trying to help?" she begged of the Magistrate.

Percy Weasley scoffed at the girl's earnest confusion, "Harry says there's something off about this case. I've learned the hard way to trust his instincts over my own judgment."

Ch 48 Just the Facts

Sam

The car door was closed on her and Sam hurriedly searched for paper and something to write with. She settled on a pamphlet about Americans' rights abroad and one of those ubiquitous government issue click-pens.

"Oh no, make yourself at home," the Major cracked sarcastically. He sat in the driver's seat and closed the glove compartment, center console, and dashboard storage Sam had just rifled through. "Anything else?"

"Silence." Sam did not notice as his eyes bulged in annoyed shock, nor when he shook his head and drove off. Instead, she scribbled out what was on her mind: _Wand guy knew he was going to die - had to tell Mom for her to know. Wand wasn't made. Something about shop is a fraud. Mom -_ She left off as tears welled up. Sam didn't write her next idea, but she couldn't help but think it, _"one of mine",_ _Mom had other kids._ She'd figured out from Lannis and Roland's hints that Mom was over two thousand years old. Demons didn't have the same propensity to breed as humans, but still ... She started another column beside the conspicuously upper middle-class, all-too-happy family picture. This one was about Scratchy.

Cho Sun

Was Robert right? Was it only winning that mattered to her, or what happened to the girl? Cho jokingly thought _If only I had a crystal ball._ But crystal balls weren't much good for cases like this.

Her door opened with a knock. Padma had a stack of files, "Got something." She handed one over.

Except, it wasn't what Cho had tasked her with, "Seraphina Bones? We know who the Head Warlock is. Where did you get this?" This particular file was worn, the leather brittle with age.

"Hogwarts."

"School files? It's a murder case. We already have Witherspoon's. How's Bones' file going to help?"

Padma sat, scrunched up her nose and shook her head, "A case, which, by definition, means people are involved. You know how this works. That quote at the start, I read the record, did you think she was a Ravenclaw?"

Cho had to think back on what Padma even meant, "'Name a thing for what it is', yes, that's from Rowena Ravenclaw, but, no, I hadn't even considered what house the judge was in."

"Hufflepuff - open it, right there on top. Back then, you had to write an essay about your house at the end of your first year." Patil seemed supremely confident in what she'd found. Her results had earned that attitude, though.

It seemed almost an insult to have used a highlighter on the more than century old parchment. Sun read the section aloud, "Hufflepuffs value service and loyalty, to community, friends, and most of all to family. Rather than-"

"Family." Padma's smirk turned into a grimace, "most of all." She produced her flask and took a sip.

Cho no longer questioned the drinking. That, combined with the attitude however, did keep Padma from ever shaping out their cases beyond her investigations. Her arguments would be little more than a string of expletives that could be better summed up as "I'm right, you're wrong!" Cho explained, "I know the Bones family has suffered."

Patil threw the next file over, it was old, but nearly fresh in comparison. "Byron and Amanda Bones."

It was a case, from their own department, "Murdered. Tom Riddle, aided by Antonin Dolohov -" Cho broke off and sighed, "Yes-"

Padma threw another, "Edgar, Sarah, Jeremiah, and Alicia Bones."

A more recent file, also a legal file. Cho read, "Murdered. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange - We know this, Paddy! These cases-"

Another, "Amelia Bones."

This one even newer, "Murdered. By Tom Riddle ... while harbored at Malfoy Manor." Cho gazed at the pictures, the middle-aged victim, the surviving teen. "Susan." Her breathing was heavy, "She was in DA with us, Pad."

Padma made a point of holding her flask high before she drew another swallow, "Can you believe, and this one's a bludger to the head, after her aunt was killed, who was really more like her mum to her, after she was killed, Susan said, seriously, said she knew what it was to be like Harry Potter?"

Cho was sick to her stomach, "She was in Huffle, we never spoke outside DA - what? No! She lost so much more than Harry ever did. Her parents were murdered before she could remember them either, and her grandparents, her uncle and his family, her aunt who raised her!" She slapped the last file down atop the others.

Patil stood and leaned over the desk, pushing the new files out of the way to point at the oldest, "Family." She snorted, "You're thinking about this all wrong. I mean, it usually works for you, but you're still thinking about how you'll win. Now, for a moment, what do you imagine would happen if you lose?"

"Now?" Stansfield's question had started her thinking about it, but she hadn't really given it time. Sun took a deep breath and considered, "Sakeen is convicted, discorporation, utter eradication if they can manage it. Samantha is sent back to the States, from what I've gathered, an orphan."

"Right, and-"

Cho gathered herself as she pressed on, "If it was before, though, Samantha's convicted, she's sent back- no, they don't want a mad demoness after _them._ They leave her to us, she goes to Azkaban, we pray our wards against demonic infiltration hold. The Countess demands even more protection."

"All right, but what about the fallout. Ignore the girl, her mother-"

Cho was incredulous, "What? This is _about_ the girl and her mother, the only other ones involved are Ollivander and the -"

Padma turned the newest file about, "Harbored at? What happens to the Malfoys if either demon or cambion is convicted?"

Sun worked it out briefly in her head. Her complaint was voiced first, "We're not in school anymore, Padma, I hate these games." Patil shrugged, but did not appear sorry in the least. Cho went on, "They're charged with harboring a fugitive again. Draco's not thick, he'll plead out."

"And then he's got a felony."

Cho gasped, "His immunity is forfeit!"

"Ministry seizes his business, takes his home. He loses everything all over."

It fit, but she couldn't quite accept it, "No, not him, he was - was just a boy. We were all just children."

Padma sneered, "Three documented attempts on Dumbledore, there when he died, nearly killed Katie Bell. Still housing his father, Lucius, in the old merchant flat over his store. They're the only DEs left to escape justice. Bones aims to remedy that. One demon or another."

Harry Potter

"I don't like it." That's what Ron would have said. Neither did Harry, but he was certain it was not for the same reasons Ron would have had. Ron would distrust these people he did not know, these deliberate phantoms.

How would Neville have felt? Perhaps he would have given in to Harry's judgment, but he would have had some wise word of his own about not trusting them TOO much.

And Lupin, Black, Dumbledore, Moody, Snape? Only Snape would understand the life these people led: serving justice behind a veil of secrecy. If only Harry had done as much to trust him when the man had lived.

Harry watched the cobblestone intersection before him. The four Unspeakables moved amongst their unmasked underlings, tending to several tidy piles of wand boxes which they analysed, discussed, and catalouged. One of the cloaked ones was Hermione. She was the only one of his friends who understood him anymore.

Ron hadn't seen the need in being an Auror after only two years of little to nothing happening. He had said he was worried about George working alone, but Harry knew it had just become boring to Ron.

Neville had stuck it out. Boring did not bother Neville. And the boredom had not lasted forever. No, it was a moment, heroic and tragic, terrifying and exhilarating that convinced Neville to give up the life. No Golden Wand would bring McMannis back, no Order of Merlin would assuage the guilt Neville felt.

It should have been a comfort to have Teddy join, but instead of a new ally, Harry saw Lupin as a reminder of his own failings: the death of Sirius Black, Fred Weasley, of Teddy's own parents.

Even at home, Harry felt disconnected. James, their son, was a daring and athletic kid. James, the boy they received calls and letters about, was unruly and maybe even a bully, like the man he was named for. Albus, or rather Severus, had so many secrets kept from him, and it seemed he was now the one keeping secrets from them. His sorting to Slytherin did not bother Harry near as much as it did Ginny, and that bothered Harry even more. Wasn't it more important that their boy was happy? Or was trying to make sure their son was happy how they had failed with James? Was it too much to be a parent _and_ an Auror?

He considered the Unspeakables again. Nothing would give away which was Hermione. Yet, not since the troll attacked them all those years ago had she ever abadonned him. Harry still had to face some challenges alone, though.

 _But why this? Why does it matter what happens to a demoness or her child?_

Harry whispered his thoughts aloud, "If Ollivander's frame had stopped on the demon, this would be over. Whether it was this demon or another, we wouldn't know ..." Then he admitted, "We wouldn't care. But it was on - it was - the last person to go out that door was someone who'd come back from the dead."

Ron had run out on them once before, and came back. When he did, he returned on the heels of very special guide. It had taken him to a sword: Gryffindor's. Ron used it to destroy a locket. It wasn't the locket itself that mattered, though. It was what it had become. It was something the Unspeakables had researched, and discovered that Ollivander's "dial" could detect. "Horcrux," Harry barely breathed the word. No one could have heard him. All four of the burlap-clothed Unspeakables turned to him at once. The very word was a "taboo". If anyone so much as whispered it, they knew.

Harry only knew of one other person who had come back from the dead. That wizard used a hocrux, several actually. He had bound his soul to various objects through the magical murder of another, and another, and ... seven times over he had done it. He was why this mattered, why they all gathered to solve this mystery. He felt at his forehead, but the long dormant scar remained so. It did not burn as it had in the past, yet still Harry feared, as the Unspeakables did, the return of villian thought dead and buried.

An Unspeakable

They turned away from the Chief Auror. As their subordinates went about their assigned tasks, the field agents continued their more in-depth investigation. Two examined a particular wand as the one walked back within the store. One held a clipboard and quill, but it wasn't writing, and its head was tilted slightly towards the nearby Auror. Potter's glance triggered a need to falsely note something. It was painful to see him there alone. It was frightening he would risk the taboo. But it let them know, he knew what they suspected. Even worse, there was no one else for him to tell. The Unspeakable followed a colleague inside.

The shop door closed. "We have to do something more."

"Yes, but what? No grave, no remains, that was the point."

"Not that, I meant here _._ "

"And here," It waved down one of the rows. "Over a thousand wands, and he took the meaning of his coding system with him." It was impossible to discern any feelings by tone, not with how their voices were changed. "The length is obvious, unicorn hair cores easy enough to discern, but the Aurors already deduced as much."

"Yes,the Aurors,on in particular, you heard him, didn't you? He's ... restless."

Actions gave away more than words. Arms dropped, but the empty frame remained firmly grasped. "E, we're to put aside our concerns outside our duties when we don our hoods."

E shrugged, "I know, I know. But it isn't easy for me. I don't usually 'don the hood', I just ... do what I do."

Several voices came from without. Hermione steeled herself, "You're unlikely to find the next of our duties easy, either. We'll call on you soon, best you go to where you do what you do." She palmed a device to her counterpart.

E pushed past Teddy Lupin as he attempted to enter. Hermione's glance at the door's frame would be imperceptible to the others. The dial shifted, the pale glow from the sepulcher gone dull, the child in the window's skin shone and glistened. So obvious once one knew what to look for.

"Is Potter himself not alibi enough?" Draco Malfoy was held between two Aurors. Malfoy took notice of her in her drab disguise. "How many of these freaks do you have?" Of course Draco saw them as they were.

Harry pushed in with the other Unspeakables behind them. Lupin cracked, "Don't mind the masks, they're just hidin' how ugly they are." Teddy owed more to being a metamorph than cunning in how he saw through their illusions.

Draco raised his brow and feigned being impressed, "Oh, they're Weasleys." Then in his all-too-familiar drawl, "They should make one for you. Bedding one surely counts you as family."

"Teddy!" Harry cut off any retaliation, but the young Auror's face was twisted and red. The Chief Auror was clearly more concerned for his new deputy, but was still interested in Draco's state. "Maisie, why is he cuffed?" The magic restraints would be hard to miss. The cast iron mold depicted a pair of large hands bound in chains while the actual hands were clamped within, completely immobilised.

Cattermole seemed embarrassed and exasperated at once, "Told him not to, like you said, sir, but -"

Malfoy interrupted, "Your Spanish goon jumped me."

Harry sighed. Lupin, still burnt from Draco's insult, corrected, "He's from Argentina, not Spain."

Draco's eyes narrowed, "Es verdad? No sabía Argenteños no hablan Español no más." Before the shock of Malfoy speaking Spanish wore off, he added, "'Spaniard' means from Spain, 'Spanish' applies to any native speaker, dolt."

"I'll talk to Ygnasio when we're done here," The Chief Auror said in a halfhearted apology. He held up Draco's binding and aligned his wand with the release trigger.

"He might still be at Mungo's then, sir," Cattermole offered. Potter stopped and his eyes flitted from his junior Auror back to Malfoy. Draco smirked maliciously. Maisie added, "Mister Malfoy, err, bloodied Señor Mateo's nose, broke it maybe. 'Stead of makin' matters any worse I sent him to get checked 'n' mended, sir ... after I got the hands on Malfoy, sir."

Lupin almost sounded happy, "She got him to give up, Harr- sir."

Draco sneered. Cattermole sounded unsure of herself, "Body-bind curse, Chief Potter, sir, then the hands, then told Mateo to leave. Seemed like he might - well, sir, I tried my best to stick to procedure."

"If I had him bound I'd put a boot in his face. Don't you think, Potter?" Draco said mockingly.

Harry shoved his wand harder than he needed to. The restraints popped open and Harry returned them to Maisie. Draco removed his hands and added, "She even apologised."

Hermione didn't need the situation becoming any worse. She was glad Teddy and Maisie would be working with Harry; Ygnasio brought out the worst in Harry. The magic of the mask disguised her voice, and hopefully her tension, "Your arm, Mister Malfoy."

Draco glared at her. If he'd thought to ask which, he gave up on the idea and turned over his left arm, then pulled his sleeve back. From his wrist to beyond his elbow was covered in tattoos. Central among them was an armor-clad knight atop a rearing horse poised to fight a black dragon over the fate of the damsel tied a stake nearby.

Teddy grunted in disgust, "He got rid of it!" He shook his head and bit his lip.

Hermione couldn't reach out to comfort him, not and maintain her secret. She held the empty picture frame above Draco's arm. The fantasy scene did not disappear, but through it glowed the snake slithering from the mouth of a subtly inhuman skull. "The Dark Mark persists, Mister Lupin. You said you followed procedure, Auror Cattermole; Return Mister Malfoy's wand to him." Hermione glanced back to D, "Prepare the compass." Hermione turned to Draco, "Now, Mister Malfoy, your part."

Draco's eyes burned with hatred, "There are easier ways of contacting my father."

It was unlike herself to be so forceful. That made it all the more misleading when she seized Draco's hand and twisted it to point his wand at the hidden Dark Mark. "There are ways to make this **more** difficult, Mister Malfoy." Hermione pulled back.

"I don't envy Azkaban the reaction this will cause." Draco jabbed the wand into his arm. Even without the revealing frame, the magic flashed along the lines of the hidden tattoo. He started, "There, are you-"

D ignored him, fixated on the compass, "Tracking." The needle spun round and over briefly blurring into a red and copper globe. It settled flat first, then started to home in at a narrow arc. D addressed a sending mirror, "Record the bearings, then calculate the distance ... good. We'll attend to it."

"Wait! When did my father's work attendance become a Ministry issue?" Draco had dropped his feigned anger for the real thing.

C was quick to jump on the detail, "Your father hasn't been to work and you didn't think to contact us!"

"Regardless of what he says, or how he acts, I don't think we have to worry about _this_ Mister Malfoy." Lupin's statement shocked the Aurors, Unspeakables, and Draco most of all.

Hermione, however, had conducted that debriefing two years ago, and she knew why Teddy Lupin would speak up for a man who otherwise taunted him, and insulted everyone he cared for. It also served as a reminder of the urgency in finding Lucius Malfoy. "You two, go!" C and D exitted, followed quickly by the tell-tale snaps as each of them apparated out. "Now ... Draco, how long has your father been missing?"

Ch 49 Negotiations

A Wayward Witch

He was so angry, so like his son. "Are you paying attention?" He rapped the table with his cane. Bits of the pile fell to the sides. He cringed, disgusted. "Don't even know what day it is _now,"_ he murmurred.

The room was strewn with debris and filth. When had it become so bad? It didn't matter, she was fine now. She had money now, too: twelve galleons. There had been more in the box at Ollivander's, but this was what was left. "I found the money in the box."

"Yes! What about the man?"

She shouldn't say. She couldn't care enough not to, "He - I needed the money, he - an old man wasn't going to stop me." Hadn't she gotten the money then, too?

"Good enough. And when you left?'

"He was dead, laying there on the floor -"

"Right!" He pushed at some random objects with the tip of his cane and grumbled, "Why here, why now? Ahh!" He flinched and grasped his left arm. "What? No _he_ couldn't - must be Draco, the fool!" He pulled his worn, fur-trimmed cloak tight around his neck. "Not waiting any longer -"

She went on wistfully, "Bleeding ... on the floor."

He turned back, "What? Bleeding, yes, that's what he said."

Her love had brought money last time, why had he sent someone else this time? "Did he ask about -?"

He shook his head, "Don't question me!" Then, more to himself than to her, "Can't question him, not again, not now. Back again, _always_ comes back." He scattered more rubbish as he stalked out and slammed the door as he left.

But how could she have killed the old man? "He was already dead when I went in."

Sam

Her mother's testimony was easier to decipher, but harder to deal with than Sam's other mystery. The medication only affected Sam's outward expression, not if she actually felt her emotions. And it was too tough to face Mom casting herself as the suspect to save her daughter. The worst of it for Sam was that it had to be obvious that only a _good_ mother would do that, right? Only a mother that cared would sacrifice herself to save her child. Except Sakeena hadn't quite lied. She'd misled masterfully, but she couldn't have lied. The ghost in chains ( _What a trope!_ ) had nearly outed her when he mentioned a master of deception or such. Sam was uncertain now it was such a good thing that no one else had caught on.

Sam pushed back and dropped from the rolling chair. They had stuck her in a vacant office. The computer was userid/password protected and therefore of little use. She'd transferred her notes to a legal pad (the supplies were secured with just a physical lock). Figuring out how to save her mother was the most important thing to do, but at the same time painful to think about. _What would they do to a demoness?_

Thinking about Scratchy didn't help, but it didn't hurt either.

 _Female - guys don't hand things to each other like that_

 _Knows Mr. P - he recognized it (her)_

 _More than one - he THOUGHT it was someone else before that_

 _Has kids niece/nephew had kids KNOWS KIDS - I know nothing!_

It was going to be a long weekend.

The banging started about on schedule. Sam wasn't really sure how she was going to achieve her "end game", but she'd already committed to it. At least Mother wasn't there to compare Sam to her impetuous Aunt Lannis.

"Open this door, Miss Witherspoon." Major Vasquez was less than happy.

"That's not going to help my mother."

"Your mother is not a U-S citizen."

Sam had a full day to plan and arrange. Still, she couldn't help but think how this really was as poorly conceived as any of Lannis' schemes. It was too bad Sam didn't have the chance to call Uncle Roland for his advice. "I want to go to Hogwarts."

The push/pull rattle of the handle stopped, "What? This is about that stupid school? What happened to your mother?"

Sam dug in. If Lannis could succeed (occasionally) through sheer determination ... "Nothing. Yet! I plan on keeping it that way!"

"Marines, take down this door."

Sam winced in anticipation of someone trying to shoulder their way through, or shoot. She needn't have worried. There was a different banging, then the light scraping of metal on metal. "I don't get it." The handle rattled again.

"She barricaded the door." The Major explained.

"Yeah, sir, I get _that_ , but without the hinges ..." More rattling. "it - it should just fall out ... sir"

The Marine Security Guards didn't know what Sam was, nor what she could do. The Major knew, but was not as similarly talented. That's why he had been insistent on Sam being medicated. Her belongings had been moved to the embassy Saturday morning. Sam had only been allowed to retrieve a change of clothes and her hygiene kit. It was a smart move to search her things. If only they had questioned an eleven year-old having a can of shave gel, or found the secret compartment, or caught her removing the fake pills inside. Sam didn't try to reconcile that it was that same "good" mother that taught her to take such precautions, and how to perform such deceptions and sleight-of-hand tricks.

A loud thunk resonated through the door. The metal framing that had once been a desk held.

"Perhaps _I_ may be of assistance."

"What are you doing here? Who let you in?"

Sam didn't even suspect who "you" was, Scratchy's voice was a give away, "Your people are most congenial, Major."

"The girl's fate is a US matter now. You and yours acted in good faith - to a point."

Scratchy didn't accept that, "As your security force demonstrates, you do not have full control over every action of every person aligned with you. Had I ... taken control of matters on our end, it would represent an internal overthrow - which is precisely what led to the point of contention we had hoped to repair with this exchange arrangement."

 _Something weird is going on - maybe the Ilvermony kid was right about him being cheated out of the exchange spot._

The officer sounded apathetic, "Before my time, above my paygrade. You worry about the mother. The child's our - _concern."_

 _You mean "problem", don't you, Major?_

"Though I cloak myself in lies, my concern is the truth. And this girl is more than a _concern_ to be solved, she is a person." There was almost compassion in the burlap mage's explanation.

"Inequity in our law is worse than no law at all, is that how it is?" What the Major said sounded off to Sam. Well, the meaning of it was fine enough, but kind of out of place. This wasn't the time to give the idea much thought anyway. Yet ... it was how he said it, he was taunting the Unspeakable. And ... Sam had heard it somewhere before.

"You've lost control. You don't have one of your own here capable of regaining such control. You clearly can't rely on her medication, a transatlantic flight will require a _talented_ escort. Unless something miraculous occurs with her previous one, you're waiting on one from the States."

"Or Germany." The American countered.

"Or Lichtenstein? You think you know things, Major. What I know is that you don't care what happens to the girl, so long as she is satisfactorily disposed of by Monday. Rest assured, I will not threaten the accord between our nations."

Sam was uncertain what happened outside the office. Her scaffolding should hold the door and its frame in place. The door itself was solid, reinforced by the thick wooden desktop, braced by the metal supports. Lines cut through the surrounding wall. The heavy barricade collapsed, wafting the adults outside in a puff of drywall dust. The Marines stared blankly as the Army Major shook his head in resignation.

Scratchy was quick to conceal a wand. "Miss Witherspoon, our chariot awaits."

Outside, Sam was a little disappointed when they got into a tiny, black cab vice an actual chariot. Nor was it much of a clue as to Scratchy's identity as a personal or even issued vehicle would have been. Upon Scratchy closing the door, the car edged into traffic without a backward glance from the driver.

"We have to go to Hogwarts first." She hadn't really expected the driver to know how to get there, but the total lack of response was discouraging. Or was it? Sam clutched at her bare neck and realized what that meant about her appearance. She pulled up her red hood, careful to cover horn stubs that wouldn't even protrude.

"He's unaware we are anything but typical passengers. He will be paid appropriately, and recall nothing out of the ordinary."

Sam had a depressing comparison, "Like Mister Dudley."

"Mourning your alibi?" The mockery was clear. So much for compassion.

If she knew who the Unspeakable was, she could ... what, extort him/her into helping? But "it" was already trying to help her. "What's the plan today?" she asked.

It seemed odd that Scratchy thought about its response, "We speak to your mother, convince her it is in everyone's best interest to not confuse the case by implicating herself. We're already pursuing other _trains_ of thought. Your mother may be guilty of a great many things, but this seems too messy for her." Then, as an afterthought, "What do you seek at Hogwarts?"

The assessment of her mother didn't sit well with Sam. Nor was she ready to confess her rather shaky theory, "I'm the reason she's doing this. She doesn't think I did it, but she doesn't think the judge Warlock lady is going to care. You're not exactly going to reassure her either."

"And your plan?"

It was listening at least (though that might have been to just pass the time). "All right, the door thing says it was someone risen, or whatever. That's seems pretty rare, but a ghost-"

"Tested; ghosts do not trigger the device, vampires have their own sigil on the dial."

 _Damn._ "OK, but either way, maybe if someone could raise Wandguy _as_ a vampire-"

"Vampire-human conversion requires that be the cause of death. Demon-vampire inception requires exsanguination, action by the demon within twenty-four hours, in addition to the death occurring on desecrated ground, and then your mother truly would have a recent violation of the law. Regardless, Ollivander did not operate out of an abandonned church." Scratchy sounded offended. "And what of the departed's right to a peaceful rest? We are not in the habit of converting people into vampires against their will."

"What about the dead's right to have their killer brought to justice?" Sam started out vehement, but then gave in to her curiosity, "And how does that work anyways? Do vampires have to register a new convert under British law?" _Rights and vampires and British law, Emmerlinse, Weasley, Inequity in our law- her mother! That's it!_ "You're Weasley's mom, aren't you?" That might be a little vague considering the sheer population of that family. "I mean, Weed - _Rose_ Weasel - Weasley. Army dude was being a little too clever back there. He looked like an idiot letting me barricade myself in, he had to show you he had something on you and so he quoted you back to yourself: 'Inequity in our law is worse than no law at all.' Like when your daughter quoted you after Emmerlinse's rant!" She had this down at least.

The taxi came to a stop at a run-down pub. Scratchy held ready some neatly folded bills and scoffed, "Ha! The 'spewch', or SPEW speech." It just sat there instead of paying or getting out. "If only Hermione Weasley were as resilient as her compatriots."

It gestured through the traffic to a storefront window: Magical Myth-tery Tours. The posters were for trips to Loch Ness, Dracula's castle, the City of the Dead, and other fairy tale and fantastical destinations. Sam was slightly amused, some of the places had actual magical residents (Salem for instance), while others had long since been debunked, even among normals (Nessy's creator admitted to his fraud decades ago). Through the passing cars, she could see a couple stand up from one of the desks inside the shop. An attractive woman stood up on the other side of the desk, smiling. She shook hands with her clients in turn and saw them off with a bundle of pamphlets, papers, and possibly tickets.

"The once proud Hermione Granger: Hero of Hogwarts, liberator of house elves, champion of non-humans, fifteen years in the Department of Law, now ... a holiday planner." Scratchy looked down at Sam and said, "Peaked early. Was it a lack of continued challenge, an absence of the pursuit of success what broke her? Her husband escaped the shadow cast by their supposed friend. Perhaps she will someday emerge from this dark period, as well." It was as if the woman had heard the recrimination from across the street. Mrs. Weasley's smile faded as she watched after the closing door. She snapped out of whatever thought she had and sat down to type at her computer. Sam was likewise snapped out of her disappointment by an unexpected question, "What was your course of action, child?"

Sam sold it with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, "The Chinese girl -"

"Of course, no motive, no opportunity, means that only every other witch in England possesses."

As she had previously determined, there was more than one "Scratchy", this one was a smart ass. "No! I mean - OK, you might know a bit - _a lot_ about necromancy, but I'm sure Huang knows even more. The Asian cultures never banned necromantic study, they just discourage the bad stuff. Ollivander might be in the shy stage -"

"A reclusive haunt - we'd have to wait another nine months for him to emerge on his first anniversary."

"Right, but she might be able to channel some final wishes -"

"She would have to be a descendant, or a medium of considerable and, as of yet, undiscovered talent."

Sam felt defeated all over again, "Uh ... yeah. I just - I know I was supposed to be back at Hogwarts today, and maybe she is, too, and ... I guess you're kinda in the business of knowing all the forbidden stuff like demons and deadites, and -"

"I have an entire day. Miss Huang's cooperation should be simple enough to secure." Scratchy glanced at the tour store. "But first, a theory, a gamble of my own."

"I don't know about that." Sam wanted to do whatever she could to help her mother, but she was still wary of these masked strangers. Except, she was wary, whatever aura the other had, this one didn't, or had turned it off, or something. "What is it?" she asked with hesitatation.

Scratchy produced an iron barred box out of nowhere. Opening it revealed a glass ball on a small pedestal. "Touch this. Normally, it would cause a maddness.

Sam certainly didn't like the sound of that. She arched an eyebrow, but didn't have the chance to voice her objection.

"It would be temporary. Accidents occur. _However,_ I have developed a method of countering even this. The price being ..." It offered her sphere, "If it has nothing to do with you, it will dissolve, a clue lost to the ages. If it does involve you ... it might serve to identify the killer, an accomplice, a method."

"A snowglobe?"

"It's a prophecy ... or a curse." The masked wizard pushed it towards Sam. "About someone who is beyond the ability to aid us."

There was an actual image up close: the old wandmaker. The risk was they would be no further along than now? The actual killer was certainly involved, but Sam doubted whoever that was would just volunteer that information. Not that she knew how that affected this thing, or if the madness effect was actually countered. She tapped the globe. The voice was deeper, even more graveled than the burlap mage's.

"The wand you start today you shall not end.

It will serve as test for your heir to mend.

Nearly a year until that date,

But today's the day you meet your fate.

Fear not, Wandmaster, fear not death, not the demon, nor her spawn,

Know that your end enters, coin in hand, to command your final wand."

Sam's face lit up, it was a riddle! Whoever bought Ollivander's final wand was the killer. Or whomever commanded it, moot distinction really.

Scratchy tilted its head. It locked the box and shoved it behind itself. The Unspeakable withdrew a few more bills, added them to the tight bundle and dumped them in the vacant-faced driver's lap. They stepped out. "A fireplace in the carpark will do. To Hogwarts then."

Hogsmeade was nearly deserted. Not that it mattered, no one paid them any attention. The school grounds were scattered with screams and signs of a massive snowball fight. The interior was an even more extreme level of wreckage. The lobby was strewn with discarded fluff, burnt (and still burning) paper, various fluids, and at least one student bound in multicolored remnants of all of the above. "A hand here, mate?"

Sam was less shocked by the post-holiday spectacle than by the attention to them, "He can tell we're here?"

Scratchy was unfazed, "Of course, we're trying to find someone, it would do no good to avert all aid in said endeavor." It waved, its wand appeared, cast, and gone in the same motion. Red streams of energy melted the makeshift bonds.

"Thanks-a-lot, I'm-gonna-get-you-Harnet!" The boy dashed down the basement/ dungeon stairs.

"Nor will he have any certain memory of who helped him." It watched the departing student.

 _Right-handed_ Sam hastily noted on a small notepad. "We should start in the chow hall."

They were just to the doors when someone called out, "Sam!"

She didn't need to turn around to recognize that voice. What Sam wondered was how had Leilianna recognized her with the hood up on her ... bright red U.S. Marine Corps sweatshirt. She'd picked it to possibly delay, distract, or gain the sympathy of the embassy guards (to be ditched for the black wardrobe beneath if she'd made it out). It did, however, also serve to identify her as the only American in the British Institute for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sam answered hesitantly, "Uh, hey, Lila, Portia."

"'Hey'! That's all you have to say?"

Sam had only thought of finding Xiau, of clearing her mother. Guilt filled her mind, and started on her eyes. She knew she had betrayed Lafayette's and Hirsch's trust. "I'm sorry, I -"

The girl rushed her suddenly. She caught Sam off guard, and left her little chance to hold off the attack. She had to get clear to fight back. Maybe she'd done the wrong thing in lying to her roommates, but that didn't mean she was going to lay down and take whatever they thought she had coming. But, as Sam pushed back and gritted her teeth, Leilianna didn't look ready for anything, much less a fight. Lila absently held her hand to a cheek as her face saddened, "I didn't mean - I just -" She was on the verge of tears herself.

 _What the-? Was that a red mark?_ Sam checked and, sure enough, found her hood had been brushed back by Lila's bushy hair (she even vaguely recalled how soft it was on her face), and there was a tiny spur on one of her horns. "Are you OK?" Sam pointed to her own cheek to mirror Lila's potential injury.

Lila sniffed, "I'm fine." She yanked her hand down to grasp it awkwardly. "No one's accused me of murder."

"I didn't do it!"

"I know - or at least, I never thought you did. I was just so worried. People say things in Merlin's name all the time, but a real cambion is another thing, and I -" She gestured to the back and side of her head in the same mirror fashion, "You - your pigtails, they're were your horns should be." Portia looked harder to notice; she was not nearly as torn up over the situation.

Sam felt all the dumber: Lila hadn't tried to grapple her, she'd been trying to hug her. "I'm sorry I lied to you guys."

"Lied? I never asked if your were a cambion. I mean, I thought you might be."

"What?! Why? How did -" Sam blanked on what to ask. "Newna! She told you!"

Lila shook her head, "No. Slytherin house elves guard our secrets dearly, but I saw your duel with the headmaster."

Sam's face scrunched up, "How?"

Lila winced, "Your chaperone let me. No human child witch could have done all that."

Sam couldn't help but sigh. "You're not upset?" Lila's eyes widened and she shook her head rapidly. She wasn't the only one Sam had deceived, though. "Portia? You, your family, you're not freaked out by me ... being what I am?"

Portia snorted back a laugh and exclaimed, "You're joking right? Mother full out feinted when she saw the Baron. Da asked Emmerlinse if there was something wrong with his eyes. And my favorite class is taught by a centaur. You're the one who told me how ghouls aren't dead people, it's just some virus and walking people who _are dead_ aren't even called zombies. When I explained that there'd been a _real_ Merlin and HE was a cambion, my parents were more concerned that you'd found a good barrister than anything else." She smiled wide and all three joined in the laughter.

 _All three?_ While there were other students coming and going through the entrance hall, Scratchy was nowhere about.

"Can I ... touch your horns?" Leilianna asked with nervous anticipation.

Sam raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion, "Can I touch your hair? It's like _the_ thing you're not allowed to ask a black chick."

Lila giggled and nodded. The girls exchanged a gentle touch of each other's head adornments. Leilianna commented, "That's why you're so careful about anyone getting close."

Sam nodded sheepishly, "Yeah, some ways more than others. When I'm not on trial I get lazy, don't grind my horns down often as much as I should."

Lila leaned in for a less sudden embrace. "I'm glad you're all right and nothing terrible has happened."

For a moment, Sam enjoyed the warmth and genuine concern of another human being. She wished it had lasted longer.

"Nothing so terrible as exile to hell or discorporation." Scratchy had returned, Huang Xiau by its side.

Sam wondered what her friends' reactions would be to the Unspeakable's shrouded appearance. Leilianna narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, suspicion flowed out of her. Portia was suddenly anxious and took Lila by the hand, "C'mon, we've gotta go!" Lila was confused. Sam was not, the aversion aura was in effect. Lila was smarter, more accustomed to this kind of stuff, or, Sam briefly let herself hope, just maybe ... Lila actually cared enough to not be distracted.

Xiau held a candle on its side. One end was black, the other red, both lit and dripping wax. She turned in a tight circle. "No one persists in this place. I am sorry."

"It's been too long." Scratchy leapt up from leaning against the counter.

"For one at peace, yes."

"At peace?" Sam similarly jumped down from the rickety chair she had sat on during the ceremony. "Somebody _killed_ him. That's the polar opposite of peace." Xiau looked at her like some wild creature that had been unleashed, yet posed little threat due to its diminutive size. Sam prepared to disabuse her of that notion.

Scratchy, now before one the curtained front windows, inquired, "But had he died in turmoil ... are you certain he would linger?"

Xiau shook her head, then nodded once, "Perhaps at peace is not accurate. He would not persist if his soul was at rest, or if remaining represented a worse fate. Though most esteemed, Master Ollivander died without family or close friends to see him on if he were troubled."

Scratchy stroked its neck, "Yes, that should be looked into ... when we are finished here. A worse fate ..."

Sam was exasperated, but knew she shouldn't lash out. Not at people who were trying to help her, no matter how bizarre they were. "What about all these wands?" She rounded the counter and grabbed the first box. "What's all this stuff on the end?" Sam removed the recently added sticker, "Not this location marker, the other stuff."

Xiau became agitated (mildly concerned by anyone else's measure), "You should not do this. Master Ollivander was a very organized individual. Every wand must be in its place if it is to find its way."

Sam glared at the teenager. She shoved the other wand boxes up and replaced the one she'd removed.

"- cross reference materials delivered with materials found, I want to know what's missing and a list of _all_ possible matches." Scratchy spoke to a mirror. The response could not be heard, but must have come. "Yes, that will help in the one instance, but not the other. Lead the investigator if you must." It turned back to them. "Ollivander's markings are believed to be the base, length, core, and a descriptor of the wand. We haven't confirmed every core, but we know the unicorn hair ones, and most the others are dragon heartstring, but we've yet to decipher which type of dragon in each case. In the past five castings of each wand, nothing but test spells or sample casts have been found. No system of organisation has been determined."

Sam was surprised. It was the most forthcoming and to the point one of the burlap clique had been yet.

Huang was not as impressed. "They are in a most logical order: transformation flows into imbuement which leads into discernment. Their satellites and tethers bound within the natural order."

The burlap masked face almost expressed astonishment, "Excuse me?"

Xiau was predictably nervous, "We may have enjoyed the grace of Master Ollivander only two days, but his guidance -"

"Ollivander was a professor, too?" Sam had not heard about this before.

Scratchy corrected, "A guest speaker on enchanted items. He lectured on the philosophy of materials and their assembly, sixth and seventh years only." That made it sound more plausible. "Are any of the wands out of their natural order?"

"They do not appear as such -"

"Look closely!" the Unspeakable snarled.

Sam wasn't certain if the seemingly interminable passage of time was good or bad. The only thing for certain was that it was only a perception. The light from outside shifted as it passed beneath the curtain of the store's front window. The sunlight offered Sam a respite from her depression. She shoved the curtain aside, but there wasn't much to see from her low vantage: the tops of buildings across the street and the dull clouds against the gray sky above. It was nearly noon. "You couldn't have left a note?" Sam muttered.

"I imagine there's no need to conceal our involvement in this investigation any longer." Scratchy conceded at the glare from the open window. Xiau had only finished confirming the first aisle of boxes, two to go. Two times a thousand or so anyway.

Sam didn't think the wand inspection was going to get them anywhere, "What about _his_ wand? I mean, all of you use swishy wish sticks, right? He'd have the best one, wouldn't he? Maybe someone killed him for it."

Huang dismissed the idea instantly, "A master wandmaker would have the wand most suited him. There is no such wand best for everyone."

"Not what I heard," Sam retorted.

"His wand was not on him -" Scratchy started.

"Then where does a wandmaster keep 'the wand most suited him'?" Sam mocked.

Xiau caught the attack on her phrasing, "He would keep it on his person. The best to display an example of his craftsmanship."

"No, it was on his workbench."

"Display!" Sam cried out. Scratchy was not long in understanding. Sam was at the wrong window, though. She snatched up the chair as she dashed to the actual display window besidethe Unspeakable.

"Do not touch it!" it commanded. Then, less forcibly, it suggested, "Stand on the chair, do you recognise this?"

She banged the seat into the wall. Sam climbed up awkwardly. She would have fell if not for the Unspeakable's steadying grasp on her hoodie. Atop the sun-bleached, lavender pillow was another one of those ubiquitous wand-boxes. Only, this one was open, cradled in its own lid. Inside was a short, rough-hewn stick. It was gray-red, glistening as if still wet, like raw meat. "I - I don't -." But she did know, she just didn't want to say it was her mother's bone. Beside it, on the white padding, was a thin black strand. "Sure bet that's my hair."

Scratchy commented, "The components for a cambion's wand, like the first wand ever. He would not have left this unfinished unless compelled to."

"What? Like that nonsense about Merlin's?" Sam wondered.

"That is in error." Xiau had approached to observe the discovery herself. "Merlin's wand was made a full millenia after the first of all wands."

Sam turned on the chair to face the older girl (at about the same height), "Uh, duh! Thus _'nonsense'_. Merlin's father's wand was the first. He made it when he was still a changeling, cambion, to try to rebel against his demon parent. Not that it worked out well for him."

"Every wand in the rows matches the length on its box." Scratchy held the wand box up to eye level to read the symbols on the end, "But not this one. I wonder then, if it instead belongs to Ollivander's final wand?"

Ch 50 Trial and Error

Cho Sun

"You know how it is, always the last place you look." Patil sat smuggly across from Sun.

It was new, but would it be enough to clear the Witherspoon child? It contradicted her mother's testimony, or at least seemed to, and that was what Cho really wanted. Bones sought revenge for her family, all but destroyed. Sun worried more about the very small, and very threatened family she represented, vice the large family Seraphina had already lost. Sam and Sakeen may not be strictly human, but it didn't make what was happening to them any less inhumane. "Padma, you're usually more thorough than this."

She half-smirked, "Oh, thank you." Patil rolled her eyes, "We got him skippin' out from Gibralter -"

"We don't know why."

"- and I backtrack him to a sketchy flat -"

"That he has a legitimate reason to visit."

"Where I find the murder weapon."

"Bloodied, no prints. A howler it's been planted."

Padma slapped both armrests at once, balled her hands into fists, pushed off the chair and stutter-stepped a half circle in exasperation, "Dammit, Chang! What do you want? The girl wouldn't have thought - wouldn't have a motive - no _CLUE_ to frame either of these two!"

Cho shook her head slightly, "And this other thing, the wandbox, even if we could tie it to him, what would it matter?"

The investigator turned back and braced against the barrister's desk, "He's not supposed to have a wand! His was destroyed decades ago." She stood and relented, "But ... it was before we - before everyone's wands were registered."

Sun sighed, "Even if it hadn't been, this one would have to be an _exact_ match to link him to this. We don't even know what all the symbols mean, and only Ollivander knows if he would ever remake a wand." They had new evidence, new suspects, new places to investigate, new clues to sift through, but the primary problem had not changed.

Padma offered, "Look, we use all this to get the mother to recant. She crafted her testimony to put herself in front of the curse, but now we have proof that not everything she said is how things played out."

"And then what? I may not have children of my own, Paddy, but even I understand she's trying to protect her daughter. We can't just contradict Sakeen, we have to clear Samantha without her, only then will she cooperate, only then will she fend for herself."

Padma jabbed a finger at the photo before Cho, "We put **him** in front of Bones and she'll jump to convict! She doesn't need proof, she just needs a chance. He's half the problem, not just a thorn to twist!"

Cho raised her eyebrows, "And what about the other half? He comes in on his own, confesses, takes his sentence with a wink and a smile? It's a whole new case. I'm going to request a stay, pending a re-trial."

They'd been friends for over twenty years. She already pushed pretty hard, and she didn't want to end it by calling Padma out on her secret. Maybe it wasn't worth it. Cho stood and walked around her desk to the door. In the end, she couldn't let it go, "If your _other_ boss - if you could just tell me everything you've found ..."

Patil did not look back. She snorted a laugh and took a swig from her flask. "Don't count on that."

Sun pushed just a bit further, "Then at least don't go behind my back again, that deal with Stansfield ..." she pulled the handle behind her.

Before the door could close, Padma shot back, "That wasn't me!"

Sam

Mrs. Sun had found out something, but assured Sam it was too soon to discuss it. How could it be too soon to save her mother? It was evidence beyond what Sam had found with the Unspeakable (Xiau had turned out to be just as little help as Scratchy had suspected). She'd just hoped the wandbox would have been ... something _more_. They knew its length, the core wasn't unicorn hair, no idea on the wood used, and they weren't sure what the last symbol even meant. This wasn't exactly a CSI show, though; Investigations took time, and may not catch every little thing.

Sam wished there'd been some other clue, anything else to clear her. It all came down to Dudley Dursley's memories for Sam, though. They'd already been wiped of everything that would give her an alibi. And she needed that to convince Mom that her little half-human girl was no longer "the accused".

She reviewed Mrs. Sun's notes:

[Neat, feminine script]Jason Peters - irrelevant

Dudley Dursley [circled] - crucial/OA

Mary Tavvers - valid/OA, vid (del)

Everything at KC: guard(OA), muggle gate(na), 9 3/4 access(na), floo access(na) - all irrelevant

Wand(?)

[Rubbish Company] Lorry - no sign of repair/damage as described, vid (del), mobiles (del) - too old - evidence erased/covered

[story]"What's N-A? Not applicable?" Sam asked Mr. Stansfield.

He leaned over to see better, "Huhn? Oh, 'no action'."

"What about mobile? That's the phone, right?"

"Yeah." He agreed distractedly while he continued to try to decipher the "Laws of the Britons", specifically the section on the rights of people possessed by demons.

Sam rattled off, "What about the company cell records? The government ones? It's like, _1984_ surveillance state here, isn't it? The cell tower? I mean, has to be some sign of all those times Mister D used his phone."

The solicitor sighed, "Yeah, so, Obliviators have access to all that. Patil tried, though."

"Wait!" Sam had it, right there in front of her. She put the important parts in front of her lawyer, "This," the notes, "And this," the Ministry great big book of rules, "Then why this?" The very unhelpful records.

Sun had even pressed this issue, but not on this exact point, "No, I already - wait ... Yes, I should have seen it myself."

Sam smiled broadly, "You get to say it in court, I don't need the credit, just the results."

Logically, Sam knew she had slept just about every night of her life. The concept of 'how' escaped her as she lay in her cell. Sam might have figured something out. But how would they bring it up, or convince the Warlock judge that it mattered. She just wished they could say it now and get it over with.

The magistrate announced, "The accused, her respresentative, and the prosecution are present, respected members of the Wizengamot."

Seraphina Bones raised her nose and sniffed officiously. Her mouth had barely opened when someone else spoke instead.

"Members of the Wizengamot, the accused calls on Chief Auror Harry Potter." Cho declared confidently.

Bones' head shook briefly, "The Wizengamot has reached its decision, Miss Sun."

Sun demanded, "My client has the right to challenge the lead investigator of her case regardless of approval by the prosecution or order of witnesses. As the record shows, I agreed to set this matter aside."

The judge looked to the prosecutor who merely shrugged. The magistrate, however, nodded and supplied, "This is normally done at the opening of a case, to establish that the investigator is not and has not been under the effects of an Imperius Curse, that he or she is fully aware of the details of the case, and has verified the evidence discovered. The Chief Auror is rarely called upon in this regard -"

The Head Warlock piped up, "As he is resistant to the Imperius curse, and well-known to be a serious-minded, dutiful young man, and a skilled wizard to boot. My own granddaughter sat as Head Warlock over a case of him summoning a _Patronus_ when he was only fifteen, and that was not his first time with the spell. Even Merlin couldn't claim that."

Under her breath, Sam added, "'Cause one, he's dead; two, cambions can't summon a _Patronus."_ Cho glared askance at Sam. In kind, Sam looked away. Correcting Old Lady Bones was not going to help their case.

Mrs. Sun wasn't discouraged in the least, "Then this shouldn't take long."

Sam was still not as certain as her lawyer. Once again, she drew some comfort by Mrs. Bones' level of discomfort, "So be it."

Mr. Weasley opened the courtroom door and Mr. Potter entered. Sam knew Cho couldn't prepare other witnesses, but that hadn't stopped her from putting some sort of scheme in motion. "Heya, Harry."

He adjusted in the seat and smiled pleasantly, "Cho."

"Why didn't you come to my wedding?"

Sam barely contained her shock. Her eyes nearly popped and she clapped her hands to her mouth. From the casual greeting, she'd thought the two were friends. _Friendships end._

Mr. Potter wasn't upset, though, "You and Winston had a private civil ceremony, no invitations. If I recall, that was the point."

"Our mothers weren't so understanding." Mrs. Sun choked back a chuckle. "And why didn't you send anything when my son was born?"

 _Ouch._ That was less embarrassing, but still seemed awfully rude.

The Chief Auror wasn't as comfortable with the second answer, "You haven't had any children."

"And why is that?"

Sun's follow-up was so quick Sam barely registered what it meant.

Not so, Mr. Potter. His expression swiftly became grave, his reply solemn, "You swore - after you helped Mister Diggory bury his son, bury Cedric ..." He paused a moment, "You swore you'd never risk having to bury someone you loved, so young, ever again."

Sam knew the big points of Britain's Wizarding Wars before she left America. Even more so once since she'd arrived at Hogwarts (it's not as if she had to spend much time on "homework"). She'd always known, at least in the back of her head, those wars involved real people. And while most of them had lived, some of them had died, and those deaths had left their marks on the survivors.

It seemed no one was comfortable with this rather personal line of questioning, least of all the Head Warlock. Earlier in the case, she had cracked on Sun for not knowing what it was like to lose her children, now she had difficulty meeting Mrs. Sun's eyes. The statement didn't help Sam's or her mother's case in the least, but if Cho couldn't do anything else, might as well make the old bat squirm.

"Thank you, I am satisfied the Chief Auror is in command of his faculties." Mrs. Sun hadn't wavered once, not for her questions nor Mr. Potter's responses.

Mrs. Bones on the other hand sounded relieved, "As are we all. Let us be done with this."

"Of course. Chief Auror, on September thirtieth, did you receive any unusual calls?"

The Chief Auror seemed incredulous, "Other than Astoria Malfoy having been attacked? The same call told me there was a cambion girl who'd just fled the scene and was lost somewhere in London. Her demoness mother had only just been found."

Cho barely raised her eyebrows, "Yes, other than those calls. Did you receive any _personal_ calls that day?"

"Miss Sun -" Bones started to interrupt, but was interrupted herself.

Mr. Potter spoke up, "Yes, I did, four actually."

"If it had nothing to do with the case at hand -" Bones was determined to render her verdict.

Mr. Potter was not helpful in that regard. He faced the judge and asserted, "But it did turn out to have to do with the case." Only Cho and Sam were _not_ surprised at the Chief Auror's claim. "I called Dudley back and asked him what was the matter. It's not like him to call me so often."

"Go on," Sun prompted.

The eldery woman's breathing became labored, but she didn't stop the testimony. Mr. Potter continued, "He told me about how he'd been called into work and ended up finding a young girl at a pier. A refugee, she'd been separated from her family, but he was a little disappointed in himself. He said he'd turned her over to an officer at King's Cross and hurried back to his work because he was worried about his kids getting into trouble at home. He wished he'd stayed to see to it she'd gotten to her parents safely." The Chief Auror sniffed a chuckle at the thought, but was cut short by someone else's sniffing.

Sam clutched her fists to her chin as she wept. She didn't know if it was obvious, or even worth explaining that she was happy. Happy to find out that at least Mr. Dursley knew he'd helped out a kid in need, even if the details had been changed.

"Well, I reassured him that I heard the girl _did_ find her mother, and that we were very thankful for his help. If I'd said more I may have found out that his version of events were off, but it was an ongoing investigation and -" Then he said right to Sam, "I wish I had filed that obliviate exclusion sooner."

Cho cut in, "Did you or your cousin identify the girl in question?"

"No."

That wasn't enough for the barrister, "Did you tell your cousin _how_ you knew the girl's fate?"

"No, Dudley would assume I knew as an Auror, or magically."

"Did you tell your cousin why you hadn't answered?"

"No, I asked him what had happened, I think."

"Did you tell him why you'd taken so long to call him back."

"No."

"Did you say why you had called him?"

"No, I just thought -"

"Did you ask why _he_ had called you?"

Mr. Potter was a little annoyed with Mrs. Sun's berating, "No, when he told me what had happened, it seemed silly to interrogate him!" Then, he settled, as if he was disappointed in his break in demeanor, "I didn't know it was going to matter later."

Mrs. Sun wasn't disappointed in the least, though. She was down right chipper, "No, of course not. Thanks, Harry. That's all the questions I have for you."

Sam got the idea from the magistrate's and prosecutor's halting manner, that they were about to do something when Mrs. Bones spoke up, "There, if that is all, the Chief Auror is a very important man -"

"Yes, but I have one more matter for him." Sun broke in, still quite upbeat.

Bones was quite offended in contrast, "You said you had no further questions, Miss Sun!"

"For Harry Potter. But I must ask of the Chief Auror to escort Dudley Dursley to the courtroom in order to confirm issues pertinent to the investigator's statements."

The judge stepped it up from offended to angry, "MISTER Dursley may NOT testify as to his recollection of this case."

The outburst didn't deter Cho in the least, "Thus I will limit my questions to the issues brought up by Chief Auror Potter, as I just said."

The magistrate chimed in, "Calling of a witness in this matter would be at the discretion of the prosecution."

Despite her high-pitched, old-lady voice, Mrs. Bones practically growled, "MIS-ter Cattermole?"

The prosecutor looked like even he'd forgotten he was part of the trial proceedings, "Well ..." He looked to Mr. Weasley, then Mrs. Sun, and finally Mrs. Bones, "If the Wizengamot has already reached a decision -"

"We have!" Bones declared triumphantly.

"- then I see no harm in allowing Mister Dursley to say his peace."

Bones stopped breathing. Sam choked between a gasp and a giggle. Cho laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. Mr. Potter, faced away from the judge, smirked, "I'll get him back in a side-along, right away."

There must have been some teleport restrictions on the Ministry, or too much interference, because Mr. Potter took several minutes. The Head Warlock fumed, while Sam took the time to beg some tissues from Cho to wipe her face and blow her nose.

The door opened to a voice Sam had not heard in months. "Well, if ya'd write sumthin' outta Scotland Yard, I'm sure that'd impress 'em, but don't trouble yerself 'bout muh job, Harry, I'm set." There was a look of acknowledgment on Dudley's face as he entered the courtroom. Against all hope, Sam prayed the Wiper that did the job on Mr. Dursley was incompetent, in too much of a hurry that day, changed the story but not all the images. It didn't matter. "Hey, Percy." He knew the magistrate. He looked around the tightly stacked, high rows of mostly empty seats around them, and observed, "Just as creepy as ya said, Harry. Right out one of them history shows."

Sam snickered, which drew Dudley's attention. She smiled and nodded. She truly hated this courtroom, too. Dudley was sworn in, which he accepted with a bit of wonder and confusion.

Mrs. Sun was much more formal than she had been with the Chief Auror, "Dudley Dursley, on Saturday, the thirtieth of September you received a phone call from your cousin Harry James Potter, Chief Auror to the Ministry of Magic. Do you recall that conversation?"

He opened his eyes wide and breathed deep, "Well ... I dunno. Saturday, I'dda been at home with the kids, or maybe at Mum's, their grandmother's."

"You were working on the day in question, Mister Dursley."

He grinned, "Nah, I'mma a surpervisor now, only work on the weekends if - wait, this gotta do with that little girl?"

Cho ground her teeth before continuing, "About the phone call that day, Mister Dursley, why did your cousin call you?"

"Ha!" Whatever Dudley found humorous suddenly escaped him, "But you probably already know about all the magic and stuff." Only Mrs. Bones didn't find the admission funny. But that didn't stop Dudley from laughing at himself. "Harry knows stuff. If he called and told me to get out muh house, I'd grab muh kids and run fer it. Leave tha lights on and the kettle whistlin', no lookin' back." Mrs. Bones may not have laughed, but she at least grinned at this muggle's unwavering trust in his wizardly relative.

"But did you call Mister Potter that day?"

Dudley shook his head, "Nah, thought about it, shoulda done it. But I couldn't remember how ta get tha message stone ta work then (got that down now, mind ya), and figured I wouldn't be able ta get him on muh mobile anyway. He can't even call me from inside his house 'cause of all the magic stuff there. Least ways that's how I was told."

"You didn't call him? Not once?"

Mr. Dursely shook his head again.

"Not four times?"

Once more, Mr. Dursley shook his head, "Nah. I mean, if she'd had a wand, or there'd been them -" he swallowed and gripped the arms of the chair, "dementors - well, I'dda blown up Harry's phone like - I mean ta say I'd want that deer of his right there in a heartbeat."

Sam couldn't help but smile. Dudley was so genuine and without malice. Sure, he didn't know that much, and couldn't do as much as any of them. That just made him all the better for what he had done. He ran headlong into a solid wall because he trusted someone else to know more than he did. But there was still the matter of the case, and the laws that applied to it. Sam was uncertain the mistake she'd found would work out as she had hoped.

"Oh my," Mr. Cattermole's reaction suggested it might.

Maybe Mr. Weasley was anxious all of the sudden for the same reason? He looked nervously to each of the adults in turn, "I-I-I'll have to contact Merriweather - at least, perhaps the Minister."

And Mr. Potter grimaced before it became a knowing grin.

Mrs. Bones didn't realize what the others had, "What - what is the matter with you all?"

Mrs. Sun just smiled, "Per the Open Review Policy One-Fourteen, I call on the release of the record of the obliviations tied to one Dudley Dursley on September thirty, twenty seventeen."

Bones was irate, "Obliviaton records are sealed, Miss Sun! For the sake of the Obliviators and the muggles themselves! Now Mister Dursley will have to be subjected to such a procedure **again!** "

"It's _Missus_ Sun. And no, he will **not!** Even if Harry had not filed the paperwork for Dudley's permanent Obliviation Exclusion, Dudley's memories, and evidence thereof, are exempt from tampering in regards to activities entered into due to his relationship with his cousin."

"Be that as it may, **Missus** Sun, it does not give you the right to question the methods of the Obliviation Corps!"

"Yes, it does, Madam Bones." Cattermole interjected with just a touch of confidence. "And they aren't the Obliviation Corps anymore. They're part of the Muggle Relations Department now, with select oversight by the Department of Law ..." he turned slowly as his smile broadened and he faced Sun, "especially in oversight of demonstrated errors."

"What errors?!" Bones really didn't get it.

Sam was ready to shout it at her (if Sun was going to correct her on the "Miss" thing, Sam could jump in on this point), but the Chief Auror beat her to it, "The calls he made to me. He should still remember those, even if he didn't get through."

Dudley commented with relief, "I did call then? Whew, I'm not as thick as I thought."

"The released records show that your daughter was in a rubbish lorry from eleven o five to eleven twenty, leaving her only fifteen minutes to enter and leave the parking lot of King's Cross, return to Diagon Alley, attack Garrick Ollivander, return to King's Cross and use the fireplace on Nine and Three Quarters to arrive at the Ministry at eleven twenty-five. Apparate tracking is in place at both King's Cross and Diagon Alley and neither has record of a corresponding apparation. There _is_ an anomoly at eleven o four in Knocturn Alley that matches Miss Witherspoon's fiery departure, demonstrating that even without specific use of the exact spell, her means of rapid movement did register."

"Is there a question for the witness, Miss Sun?" The Head Warlock interjected.

Cho looked at the handful of parchments she held, "Did you know these details when you testified?"

Sakeena blinked. She replied flatly, "No."

"Per your previous testimony, what lies did Garrick Ollivander maintain?"

Sam's mother continued to answer plainly, and somewhat distracted, "His family ... he claimed he would not apply their - _his_ name to any wand that did not use dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or a phoenix feather as its core, yet his family had done so as makers of fine wands since 382 BC _and_ he still used alternative wandcores himself ... on occasion. And they didn't even arrive in the British isles until ... it would have been 50 AD or so by modern reckoning." She smiled wanly, "He said he would not complete my daughter's wand. It may have been an expression of apology ... or disappointment. I doubt it was because it wouldn't be one of his _preferred_ cores."

Cho stepped to the magistrate and collected the plastic wrapped wandbox, "What two elements did you plan on contributing to your daughter's wand?" She held the box before Sakeena.

"The bone, and the strand of my daughter's hair. She could have done the hair on her own, but I thought to save her some trouble by doing it myself."

"But your bone would require the passing of a human soul to bind it to this plane. How did you secure such a soul?"

Sakeena closed her eyes briefly, "I did not. The wandmaker informed me he was not long for this life, that his soul would soon pass. He was quite certain."

The little unknown detail that had bothered Sam during her mother's previous testimony became clear: Sakeena had known Ollivander was dead all this time. That was obvious, and to be expected if her mother had killed him. She hadn't been covering for herself, though; She just hadn't cared an old human was dead.

When the judge spoke, Sam thought she might address this issue, but Mrs. Bones had something else on her mind, "Then the entirety of your previous testimony was false?"

Cho started, "If the court -"

But it was Sakeena who finished, "You heard what you wanted to hear: details to fit a narrative plausible to your sensibilities; vague accusations you aimed at specifics you desired; rhetorical implications transformed into inferrences that led down an attractive path. I said nothing false." She faced the judge, "You did what you humans have done from the beginning: you deceived yourself." Sakeena turned away deliberately.

Bones gritted her teeth as the barrister, prosecutor, and magistrate exchanged hesitant glances. The Wiznegamot mumbled behind their veil. Sam kept locked on her mother. While it had been hard to take that her mother had no concern for the old wandmaker's death, it was all too easy to accept that her mother had intended on saving Sammy by sacrificing herself.

The judge finally broke the silent tension, "If ANY of the witness's testimony is found to be false, ALL of her testimony will be thrown out." It was an angry, but futile threat. Bones knew as well as everyone else that Sakeena could not lie while magically forced to tell the truth.

Cho must have figured that, too, as she continued without notice of the warning, "Who cut the bone from you if you would not allow Mister Ollivander to do so?"

The demoness mellowed, "I did. The wandmaker's hands shook too much."

"Did you kill, cause harm, or otherwise injure Garrick Ollivander?"

Sakeena finally met Sam's eyes. Both looked exhausted at the pressure this tiral had put upon them. Her mother smiled almost imperceptibly, "No, I did not." Then, to the barrister, "What of Samantha's wand?"

Cho Sun still held the box. She shook her head, "It will serve as evidence in finding the actual killer. I'm unsure who would even know how to properly assemble it."

"The heir to Ollivander's store," Sakeena answered swiftly. "That is what he said when I asked him, though I do not know if he left a formal declaration of said intent." Had Sam's mother been told the entire prophecy/curse thing? Not likely, she would have said something about that.

Mrs. Sun looked to the magistrate. He shrugged his shoulders. The barrister's look to the Head Warlock fared even worse as Bones scowled ( _That_ _ **might**_ _be for some other reason_ , Sam imagined).

Sakeena tilted and bobbed her head in time with Cho's movement. "Eighteen ... bits or such, elmwood, heart of hook ... of tail - ah, thread of a horntail's heart."

"You can read this?" Cho looked at the symbols herself before she thrust the box towards the witness.

"Sumerian? Of course. It's been a few thousand years, but it was a few thousand before that it was _the_ language of those ..." Sakeena barely smirked, "worth my time and effort."

"And this fourth set?" Cho pointed to the box's end, "The Ministry has determined the others to be the length, the body, and the core. From experience we know Ollivander assigned a descriptive attribute to each wand. Is that what this is?"

Sakeena straightened up and held her hands before her, palms down, fingers interlaced. She bent her hands up and down, then held them in place, "It's ... there are several interpretations of 'not shift': unbending, unyielding, inflexible." She made the facial equivalent of a shrug, "He was from England, he should have used English."

Cattermole stood and addressed the Wizengamot, "In light of the testimony, and the discovery of new evidence, the prosecution requests to suspend these proceedings in the matter of the murder of Garrick Ollivander, and dismiss the charges against Samantha Witherspoon."

Seraphina Bones was pained at the thought, "Nothing has shown the girl to be innocent. Even her own mother suspected her!"

Mrs. Sun's retort was bitter, "Maybe not innocent, Madam Bones, just not guilty of this."


	11. Chapter 51-End

Ch 51 Travel and Accomodations

Harry Potter

He had two more leads than he did when this started. Neither seemed likely. At least Draco had cooperated by coming in. That spirit of good faith could evaporate in a moment, though. Harry didn't want to leave him to fume, but also couldn't risk anyone alone with Malfoy, not himself, and especially not Mateo. Harry went with his gut and chose to test a new partnership.

Malfoy broke the silence, "What did you mean?"

"We're not here to question you; you're not here to question us." Maisie Cattermole leaned forward to emphasise her point.

Draco appeared curious and raised an eyebrow at her, "Regardless of what I say, or how I act, you don't have to worry about me, isn't that right, Mister Lupin?"

Cattermole glanced sidelong at Teddy. He seemed to understand the implied offer: you don't need to respond. Lupin sat quiet a moment, "What would you say speaks more of a person: what he says, or what he does?"

Malfoy was quick to answer, "His actions, clearly." He shot back, "We've only met the once before, at my mother's funeral. What did I do to make you think you know me?"

Teddy considered his reply, or if he even would. He wiped his forehead to his chin, and said, "Perhaps that story's for another day, sir."

"Quite rude ... keeping my own secrets from me." Draco's voice verged into his taunting drawl.

"When secrets are _my_ domain." The Unspeakable rasped as it entered the room. It dismissed the two junior Aurors with a wave of its hand. Harry had prepared them, and they went along.

Just as the door to the interrogation room had opened suddenly, so now did the door to the observation room Harry watched from. It was Hermione, in her normal clothes.

"Then - is that you? Or _going_ to be you?" Harry asked in confusion.

Hermione shook her head, "No - time is vital ... I suspect." She donned her mask hurriedly, clothing her in the same burlap robe and hood as her recent co-workers. She then sounded like them, as well, "That is the director." She stood in the far corner.

"Then -" But Harry was cut off. Hermione cast about herself and became invisible. The door opened again.

"Ah, _Chief Auror_ Harry Potter. It's been years." The elderly witch chuckled dryly, "Outside a courtroom, that is."

Harry wasn't certain how many years Seraphina Bones had left to her. He _was_ certain their feelings were not mutual. If not for her, if not for her vendetta against the Malfoys ... but that must be why she had come. This wasn't going to be a simple questioning. He wished he could warn Draco, but of what?

Percy came in next, a tall chair levitated in tow. "Your seat, Madam."

In the interrogation room, Draco was clearly agitated, yet he managed to contain himself.

Bones wasn't as patient, "Ah, thank you, Magistrate. Now, Mister Potter, how will this odd fellow know when to -"

The Unspeakable finished arranging a series of files before itself, "I am not your handler, young man. This is not one of your usual debriefings." It set out a picture of a woman, blonde, perhaps once attractive, but worn and tired. "You know this woman?"

Draco was curt, "Yes."

His questioner sat up, straighter still, "Would you prefer this discussion be less cordial then?"

Malfoy shook off something, "No, it's - she's Daphne Greengrass." He raised his eyebrows briefly. "Technically my sister-in-law."

"'In-law' is, by its meaning, 'technically', Mister Malfoy. You spoke to her at King's Cross on September third."

Draco was ready for this detail. It hardly took him a moment, "She needed money."

"And did you provide her with such?"

"Yes," Malfoy swallowed, "Two galleons."

"But you had more, did you not?" The Unspeakable sounded disappointed.

"Whatever I give her, she spends it all at once, I gave the rent directly to her landlady, with the two I gave Daphne it came to twenty-four galleons total."

The burlap masked wizard leaned in and shrugged, "One can't be expected to turn his back on family, though, can he?"

Harry couldn't tell what about the comment disgusted Draco so, but disgusted he was, "Family? I **pay** her to stay **away** from my family. She knows it. And she uses it to get more when she can. She knew we'd be taking our son to the station that day. She was ready to use _that_ for whatever it was worth."

"Twenty-four galleons ... total." It held up a sheet filled with green lines, and black and red numbers. "How much did you collect from Garrick Ollivander's shop that day?"

Seraphina huffed.

Draco sat back, worried, "I ... one hundred ... one hundred and forty-four. I wasn't going to trust an addict with -"

"Did you inform her, Miss Greengrass that is, of that amount."

"No."

"Did she _see_ how much you collected?"

His anger subsided again, Malfoy reconsidered, "I told her we needed to cover expenses, and - I might have said _something_. There were obviously more than two coins in the purse."

"And this?" It offered another picture. Only then did Harry notice both were full-color stills.

"Stewart."

 _"Technically_ your nephew?"

Draco shook his head, but answered, "In-law, in fact."

"And in blood, as least to your wife and son, that is how _that_ works, isn't it? And the father?"

Bones scoffed, "His own wife's sister." Harry cringed, he knew what she implied was not like Draco. Besides, it was obvious he despised Daphne.

"I don't know who his father is." Draco gazed at the photo and softened, "This was when he was a year? Scorpius wore this then."

"Yes, I believe that was his age. It would have been two years ago, that the father would have been around, that is. Was there anyone your sister-in-law, excuse me, _Miss_ Greengrass associated with then that stood out in your mind."

Malfoy blinked and swallowed. "I - dealers, degenerates? Police, Aurors? The usual suspects and the ones that pursue them." He stared off, "She said it was an old friend once, but she wasn't ... reliable at the time."

The Unspeakable handed over another picture, this one grey and moving within the frame, "This one?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he scowled, " **No.** Vincent Crabbe died at Hogwarts."

"Hmm, no need to disparage his memory by asking whom he served that day. This one then?" Another magical picture.

Draco shrugged, "Maybe. We don't - she was- she acted like she didn't need any more money. I didn't believe her."

"But -"

"Yes, it could have been - _be_ Goyle. I don't know."

"You don't keep in touch with your old friend? Thick as thieves at school, you never offered him a position at your new business?"

"We _were_ friends ... once. That also died at Hogwarts."

"Friends wouldn't threaten each other's wives."

Harry hazarded a glance at Madam Bones. Thankfully, she was properly solemn at the reference to Goyle's attempt on Astoria and Samantha.

Draco was angered instead, "Is that what this is about? I thought you were investigating Ollivander's death. What does Daphne have to do with any of this?"

"Trace fingerprints at the scene, at Ollivander's, matched hers. It's been far too long since her wand purchase to explain them away. Why don't you always pay directly for the flat in Dagenham?"

Malfoy was annoyed, but remained serious, "She burned the last one down. They'd go after my business if I put my name to a lease. Her prints -"

"But groceries are delivered every week, paid in cash. There's no name on record, but your description -"

"Yes, I buy their food. The boy shouldn't starve."

Seraphina sighed and adjusted herself in the chair. Harry wondered, as he paid attention to the reactions of this elder member of the Wizengamot, what clues was Hermione getting from the Director of the Department of Mysteries?

"Did you pay for this?" The Director had withdrawn what looked like a decayed arm from a bag far too small to contain such an object. It was obviously a piece of evidence from the distinctive plastic bag, but why had Harry not seen it until now?

Draco was likewise confused, "No. I had something similar once, but ... not this. It was a -"

"A Hand of Glory, yes, dear boy, to allow one to see in the dark." The masked Unspeakable turned the detached limb over, "But no, you're quite correct, this is different. You've seen many things in your life, Mister Malfoy: an opal necklace, vanishing cabinets, ... a certain diary."

Harry glanced to the Head Warlock, how much did she know of the real past vice the popular version?

Madam Bones' face hardened as her lips tightened into a smirk.

"Yes. I've never seen this before though," Draco offered.

The director snorted, "No, of course not, young man. I don't imagine the person who owned it knew what it did, or he or she would not have used it so clumsily." Anxiously, Harry looked to where Hermione should still be. He imagined even she didn't know where this "interview" was going. The answer was resolved soon enough, "But, this was what was used to disfigure dear, old Ollivander. His blood was found in the claws."

As Harry thought the next question, Draco asked it, "And _where_ was it found?"

"Why, at the site you led us to, Mister Malfoy, never would have thought to look there without your help."

Bones bared her teeth ever so slightly. Draco bared his rage as he leapt from his seat, "The only place I led you to was where ever my father was hiding! He's the only one outside Azkaban with the Dark Mark!"

"We're not so certain of that." The Director remained calm, "He'd be the only one with it if you had your way, though, wouldn't he, Mister Malfoy?" The comment rattled Draco, who paced and grasped at his sleeve. "You've been in the practice of having it drawn over, after more ... drastic measures failed."

Draco admitted, "It regrew after I - the mark came back with my arm. I go to another parlor every few months. The mark destroys everything it touches ... eventually." At that he distractedly stroked over the concealed tattoo.

"Your father has made no such attempts. He _did_ , however, attempt to Obliviate Miss Greengrass's memories of the day in question."

Draco sneered, "He has no wand!"

"Oh, he has one, that is for certain. As Ollivander had a box, a _new_ box, for a wand: eighteen inches, elmwood, horntail heartstring, unyielding. It precisely matches the description of your father's, per a long ago interview." From the same small bag, the Unspeakable produced the wand box, also wrapped as evidence. "And as Miss Greengrass has memories of killing the old man, but also of finding his already deceased body, taking twenty-eight galleons, yet leaving empty-handed, we know something's been done to her. She's quite aware of what year and what season it is, but exact dates escape her, and so her memories could not so successfully be altered."

Malfoy resumed his seat, "She ... she had something to do with Ollivander's death?"

"No. Despite your assistance to her, she did mean to rob him, threaten him if need be, but I do not believe her capable of intentional homocide. It seems as if she was meant to appear as such: plentiful opportunity, simple motivation, and now, the apparent weapon. Except - something's missing. I wonder, why use this?" It held up the inhuman limb. "The Assassin's Claw, scratch the victim, name the target, and she, or he, will be consumed with hatred, driven to slay whomever is named. If you're careful, clever, they'll never even realise it wasn't their idea. It's rumored this was used to drive the Bloody Baron to kill his beloved Helena." It twisted the claw about, then suddenly thrust and yanked it in the air, "Or a clumsy weapon, fashioned in the form of a spitewyrm's front leg."

"Form? A spitewyrm -?"

"Miss Greengrass was aware of her sister's ability, as an animagus?"

"No - I don't - maybe." Draco sputtered.

The Unspeakable Director explained, "No matter, she is now. She's not certain she knew or not before, though. As you say quite aptly, she's not 'reliable' at times." It stared across the table, "Explain, if you would, why the threat of her presence would serve to extract more money from you."

"Astoria- _I_ ..." Malfoy took a deep breath. "Astoria loathes her, never wants to see her again, wants nothing to do with her."

"And in return, Daphne is jealous of the success and happiness her sister has found."

"Astoria _made_ her success, her - _our_ happiness."

It examined the claws of the small dragon foot, "Borgin and Burkes wouldn't put a price to it. They claim to have never sold it."

Draco stared at the object, "They're quite discreet about their transactions."

"Quite, and clearly Miss Greengrass would not be able to afford such an item, but we suspect they know who last possessed it. After all, though they don't traffic in such items now, they didn't say they'd never had it."

"There's a point to all this?"

Draco's challenge amused Seraphina, but Harry doubted she knew anymore than the rest of them.

The Director certainly knew, "Your father used his privileges as your employee to travel to Gibraltar."

"He sometimes receives deliveries at that office."

"And we had not yet suspended his travel within the Commonwealth. I imagine the triggering of the Dark Mark drove him to flee. He's already crossed over to Morocco. By now he'll be too far, too wary, for us to use the same method twice." The Unspeakable paused, "You have been a valuable asset to us, young Mister Malfoy."

Draco was bitter, "Been? You're going to cut me loose over this?"

"No, no, dear sir. Rather, we have something more arduous to ask of you."

Draco considered what that might mean, "What? You - apparently you think my father, or - _and_ my wife's sister, one of them - _both_ conspired to frame my wife, but instead you accused this cambion girl."

"I never thought you so clever as you thought yourself." The Director's taunt earned a scowl from Malfoy. Bones grin was tight and wide. The Unspeakable leaned forward and lost a measure of its cool demeanor, "Allow me to unroll the scroll as it were: your father, or an associate of his, killed Ollivander. They thought to cover it up by using this device to cast suspicion upon another. They sent in Miss Greengrass to appear as the one to frame her sister, then changed her memories to fit their plot, a scheme within a scheme. What they did not anticipate was the even slipshod care the woman would take in covering her presence, or that the artefact they possessed was actually a demonic item, or that there'd even be a demonic suspect to throw the investigation off _their_ intended course. A bit of luck, bad and good, for Miss Witherspoon." The Director sat up and composed itself. "Your family has held ... items of certain power before. Not all of them from Borgin and Burkes."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, "Yes."

"This claw, though, it was never sold by them, the last person to show interest in it _was_ once a clerk of theirs."

Harry hit the viewing wall before he could stop himself. Bones was taken aback. Percy didn't understand, "Harry?"

Draco's gaze pierced across the table. "He'd dead. I saw it, he's _dead!"_

"As was Mister Potter. I am certain your mother told you as much. A good woman, her actions may have saved us all."

"You didn't know my mother then."

"Ah, but there are assumptions made, about family, the love of parents for their child, the loyalty of a child to his parents."

Draco snarled, "I gave my father a room, a meaningless job. Your people _told_ me to, to keep him from becoming desperate. You want to test my loyalty? Take me wherever, I'll run him down myself!"

"Mister Malfoy, your father will turn up in time. We're not inclined to take you anywhere, though we may send you somewhere instead. We've more worrisome issues to resolve first. The discerning dial at Ollivander's shop indicated someone had been there who returned from death, or, prepared themself for such, as it were."

Madam Bones was unclear, "This again? Mister Potter, do _you_ know what this means?"

Even through the rasping voice, the Unspeakable sounded determined, "The isolation of Azkaban has made its prisoners no less hopeless despite dementors no longer serving as their custodians. There are few left who might have seen this before."

"Few? They're all there. What have you covered up now?"

"Oh, a suicide here, a break in sanity there, perhaps several of each." The Director edged the bagged claw forward, "The few left wouldn't confide in any of us, but a loyal son, one they _thought_ to be loyal, at least. Even if they'd lost their trust in his father, or perhaps _especially because_ they no longer trusted him, the son may offer a tempting target, someone desiring to ingratiate himself to them, a son who would not be among them forever, someone of means, someone they could hope to turn to aid in their plight."

Draco shook his head, "You want _me_ to go to Azkaban? To ask, who, _Greyback_ if he - if his master had this claw before? For what?"

The Unspeakable kept on in its imperative tone, "To keep your business, your home, your _family_. Time is vital, Draco! I care not a whit about your father, the judgment of this Ministry, nor the appeasement of the Wizengamot! I need to know that certain elements of our history remain buried!"

The secrecy, the lies, the supposedly noble conspiracy to hide what had actually happened. Harry worried it had all been for nothing.

"Of course, Mister Malfoy," The Director offered, "I shall abide by whatever you decide."

Samantha

Not that anyone else knew what New Year's day meant to her, but a declaration of "innocent" was the best birthday gift Sam could have asked for. Sure, _everyone_ knew she was a cambion now. And not just everyone in the British government, but anyone who even chanced to look at the cover of a _Daily Prophet._ Still, that was a minor inconvenience compared to what a guilty verdict might have entailed.

It was all kind of surreal, though. Sam didn't really get to know Mr. Malfoy over the week she'd stayed in his home. Astoria saw enough in him to marry him, bear his child ( _plus one!_ ) So, she didn't really buy him having helped his father flee while risking Sam's near conviction. He did it because it was his dad? And then felt guilty and hired a lawyer for Sam and Sakeena? It didn't really fit.

Then again, some other things didn't fit with Sam's expectations either. While she got more than the standard allotment of stares at meals and in the halls, in class everyone acted pretty much the same as they had before (Hufflepuffs were still sorta clueless yet pleasant, Ravenclaws each on their own little programs, and Gryffindors were eternal dorks). Within Slytherin, Sam was a minor, and temporary celebrity, her popularity waning in time with the approach of midterms. No one splashed her with holy water, ambushed her with a prayer circle, or made fun of her for being half-demon (not that everyone was nice, but none of her confrontations were species related).

Meanwhile, Scorpius was the subject of a string of threats and pranks outside the house. _Within_ Slytherin was a different matter: it seemed to be every week he received some care package of sweets, writing materials, and gifts of magic tricks. The boy himself continued to be a major buzzkill, never smiling, studying constantly. According to Lila, not even the Dubois chick broke Malfoy out of his self-imposed boringdom for long. Maybe his father was in prison, but at least Astoria was OK, alone and pregnant, but otherwise OK.

Finals brought on a new wave of depression for Sam. Not that the tests would be difficult or anything, like most others were worried about. It would be _final_ for Sam, though, the end of the school year was upon her. She regretted ever mocking it for being so short.

"So, aside from your impromptu legal education ..."

Mother was back in her frumpy, government schlub shape for the plane trip home, along with acting snarky and cruel. Sam looked forward to a return to "intriguingly hot mom" when they were back in Jersey (along with some kindness and concern). "It was all right, I guess."

"All right?"

Sam rolled her eyes. She was still a little torqued at "Sara" boarding them during the call for passengers with difficulties or small children. She declared Sam to be both. Sam let herself believe, even if just for the moment, her mother had done it so they could talk while everyone else boarded. "It was nice having friends for once. But -" Sam held up her phone, "I got Lila and Porsh on VoIP, Missus Em - Astoria, too. Sev ..." Sam thought of the stunning session and waking to his eyes and couldn't help but smile, "Sev's about clueless, but I got his address, and 'Storia said she'd get him online when he's over to see Dorky-puss."

"Dorky-puss?"

"He's not _here._ And it's not like I'd call him that ... in front of his mom."

"I wonder how you'd manage six more years. Could you persist in exercising such restraint?"

"Six years? Ha!" It didn't take long for the thought to play out in Sam's mind. "No way I'm doing that kind of time at GLA. At _Hogwarts?_ Maaaybe."

The seat-back in front of Sam rocked towards her. Some kid had jumped on it. "Shhh, I don't think we're s'pposed to say that name out here."

It took slightly longer for her to register _who_ the kid was, "Severus?"

His eyes went wide and he shook his head. "No, _Steeeve._ Check it out." He held his passport to her face.

"Albert Steven Potter? What-?"

"Al, I'm not sure those are our seats." Red hair, called him "Al", looked vaguely like a pudgy version of her action figure: _Missus_ Potter.

"What is your mom - what are _you_ doing here, Se- _Steve?_ Planes are major controlled, everywhere, not just the States. How did you get here?"

Sev looked up a moment, "Side-along to Edinburgh, then we ... well, we walked the rest of the way."

"You need tickets."

Mrs. Potter was examining her boarding pass, "Oh no, these _are_ ours. Hermione said she'd get us close." She smiled with satisfaction.

Sev turned back to Sam, "That's my aunt." He paused in thought, "Hermione I mean, her," he pointed at Mrs. Potter.

Sam cut him off, "She's your mom! Duh!" Sam relented (slightly), "But what are you -?"

"No, Lily, there aren't any windows in the center row." _That_ was Mr. Potter.

The reality sunk in on Sam, "Is your whole family getting on board?"

Severus dismissed the idea, "The Weasleys? Nah, not even James. He's going to, uh,"

"Polo camp." Mrs. Potter suggested as she settled into her seat.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Polo?"

Sev waved his passport around, "Albert Steven? Yeah, _po-lo!"_ He waved his hand around as if it were flying.

For Sam, wizarding secrecy rules were harder to abide by after months and months of nothing _but_ magic. It was much more routine to shift modes when students went home every weekend at GLA.

"Anyways, Dad has some Ministry thing to do out in - err, where is it, Dad?" Sev turned to his father and sister sitting on his other side.

"Harry?" Mrs. Potter sounded worried.

"No, no, it's fine. I have a meeting in Philadelphia and another in Roswell."

"HA!" Sam barked.

Mr. Potter chuckled, "Well, _near_ Roswell."

"Hey, Philly's right across the river from where we - well, where we _used_ to live." Sam got depressed at the thought. She'd been so distracted over leaving, she forgot what she was going to face back "home".

Sev shook his head in confusion, "Where do you live now?"

Sam raised her eyebrows, "Don't worry 'bout it. We'll figure it out. There's this great pizza place we can have dinner at while you're all in town or whatever."

"In town?" Mrs. Potter asked her husband.

"I -" He started, but a commotion up front distracted him.

"You lay your hand on me again and I'll keep it as a souvenir! I'm pregnant, not feeble!"

"Ma'am, international regulations -" the flight attendant started a scripted lecture.

Sam was shocked, and delighted, to see Astoria. She should not have been surprised, but couldn't help but be disappointed to hear Scorpius, "I'm sorry, miss, it's been a very stressful day for Mother, I'm sure you can understand."

Sam could barely contain herself as Mrs. Malfoy took the seat beside Skein. She took the chance to jump onto her mother's lap and hug Astoria tightly. If nothing else, Sam's uncontrolled joy helped quell Mrs. M's anger, "Doctors - know nothing about - I -" She halted several times, then hugged Sam back. "It would be safer if I flew myself."

Mrs. Potter seemed to agree, "Really, Harry, a ... private transport -" Maybe she meant a carpet, or a flying carriage.

"Or other means," Astoria added. She meant dragon wings, her own.

Mr. Potter challenged, "And how long does that take?"

Mrs. Potter shrugged, "One. Whole. Day. I could borrow the _Zihour_ from the paper. The cabin's set for six adults, four adults and four kids shouldn't pose that much of a problem, though. If you like it we could get one ourselves."

"Eight hours, including our time on the ground. That's how long this takes," Mr. Potter said confidently. Mrs. Potter's expression revealed she hadn't thought it would be so fast.

"And the arrangements, Chief Auror?" Mrs. Malfoy inquired.

He turned back, "Err, Detective Chief Superinten- it's not important, just Harry." He considered a moment, "Or Mister Potter." He let out a short breath, "There were some ... _royal_ concerns -"

"No doubt there were," Mother said, in a spot-on British accent.

The Chief Auror (or whatever) nodded, "But the Ministry is signed off. I emphasised the aid your family has provided. It's up to their people now."

Astoria reached across Sara and clutched Sam's hand. _Wait, what?_ Sam tried to clarify, "Whose people? _HER_ people?!" She pointed to her mother with her free hand. "We do NOT want to make deals with them!"

Mrs. Malfoy smiled and shook her head, "No, no, dear, your government people."

It was not very reassuring, "About what? We were found innocent, though, they're just looking for your father-in-law, right?" Sam failed to notice the several glances and lingering stares that comment earned from other passengers.

Skein explained, "They're talking about arrangements for an employment opportunity. Missus Malfoy will be in need of a nanny several months from now, as she runs the family business. Though her son will be at school, her daughter will be helpless at home, and Mister Malfoy otherwise detained."

Sam's eyes popped, "You?"

Sara put out her lip, "I have more than a lifetime's experience taking care of ... children." She smirked, "Do you really believe yourself prepared for six more years at boarding school?"

Sam couldn't believe it: Lila and Portia, Severus, Headmaster Orinsworth, Professor Stalvan, even Newna and Emmerlinse, and - "Hell yeah!"

Severus laughed.

From just past Astoria, Scorpius groaned.

* * *

Epilogue

30 September

Garrick Ollivander

The demoness laid the hewn bone in the box he had set on the counter, alongside her daughter's hair. "When will it be finished?" she asked.

"Within a year." Yes, that was what he had been told.

She raised an eyebrow, "Quite the delay, I expect quite the discount."

"Oh, I would not risk my soul to charge one such as you, Dread Mistress."

The demon grinned, "Speaking of souls, how do you intend to preserve the bone?"

Ollivander smirked weakly in kind, "I am not long for this world. As my life's work has been the crafting of wands, so shall be my death."

"And thus you will seal the material, but not complete my daughter's wand?"

"It will serve as a test of sorts, for my heir."

She glowered in disapproval of his answer. Would the prophecy prove false? "A game I _de-_ test, but my anger I will save, for one with feet not poised at his grave."

Of course not, Trelawney's prophecies had proven unerring. Not young Sybill's, no, but her great-great grandmother Cassandra. That was who had spoken through Sybill this morning, who had told Garrick of his coming end.

The demoness inspected her arm, the cut healed, the skin whole. She pulled her sleeve tight and smooth, and left without another word.

Ollivander thought about his fate. He would die soon enough either way. "Parkinson's" they'd called it at St Mungo's. Indeed, though he himself had never knowingly wronged them, the Parkinsons had sympathised with the Death Eaters. The healer had corrected him, though. It was a name for the tremors of the limb and body, the gradual loss of thought and control, that had ravaged the eldest of the Ollivanders for ages. It was not magical, but that made it no less a curse in his mind.

And it was with that thought Garrick accepted what he could not alter. He set the box down upon the pillow. He worried at the wisps of crimson smoke: signs of the demon bone's decay. It had been a long time since any demon had entered England, much less graced the Ollivanders' wand shop. In days long past there had been all sorts of demons, vampires, and dopplegangers. They were so common that proprietors up and down Diagon and Knockturn alleys would discretely check their discerning dial on every patron's entrance.

The door chimed, two hooded figures entered. The dial did not react. Garrick greeted the next - the _last_ client he would serve, "Lucius."

"Ollivander." Malfoy dropped his worn, fur-lined hood. Cordial pretense aside, "Your owl said the task is done." The other man drew the front curtains.

The wandmaker would have preferred not to have undertaken this endeavor. Reforged wands were a notoriously troublesome proposition. There was a reason for the fitting, and oft a fitting reason the original had been sundered. "Yes. Eighteen inches, elmwood, horntail hearstring, unyielding. Your son has been understanding in my ways, that some components may cost more, some less, but each finished wand is of immeasurable value to its rightful wielder." One should always be tactful, regardless of the customer. Thus, it pained Ollivander when he slipped, and gave voice to his thoughts, "After what was done to me in your home, I would not have forged this wand but for the Ministry's edict."

Malfoy grasped the wand and immediately affixed it to the snake-headed top of his walking stick. "And so the Ministry saw fit to deny me said home." He flitted the newly handled wand, a silver stream cascaded from the tip. It swirled and coalesced into a coiled serpent. With a flick of his wrist, Lucius waved and scatterred the sparks as he sheathed the wand into his cane. "You said you had the money. Draco acts as if paying my bills is some ignoble duty of his."

The other man nodded, his face still shrouded. Would he be the killer instead? No, Garrick knew Lucius would be the one.

 _Know that your end enters, coin in hand, to command your final wand._

The hooded man swept his hand across the counter and scattered several gold galleons. Ollivander disliked the cavalier, even dismissive manner, but did not anticipate bending down for the coins later ... to pay for materials for the next wand? He reached out to stop them from spilling to the ground. There was something in the way the man held his hand and wrist. It came to Garrick when he brushed the stranger's hand.

The simple contact filled Garrick with a dread he had thought forgotten. Malfoy and his companion turned to leave. Ollivander fought back the fear, but, once again, he could not restrain his tongue, "Thirteen and a half inches, yew, phoenix feather ... brittle."

The unknown wizard laid a hand on Lucius. They stopped. Then the stranger spoke, in that voice. The voice that Garrick had heard only in his nightmares these past decades, that breathless, cold, and haunting voice, "More a compulsion than a talent, isn't it, wandmaker?"

"The others await you." Malfoy was eager to leave.

His "Lord" was not. "He knows, Lucius. I cannot have him spoil the surprise just yet."

"No one will believe him. Draco says he's grown forgetful, can barely even assemble wands on his own anymore."

"No one? It will take _only_ one, and that one's name is Potter. **He** will believe, as you do. You believe in me don't you, Lucius?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Then do not fail me in this matter. Dispatch the old man, use his death to secure yourself against your own. Dispatch not only him, but your fear, the fear of your death, the fear that has led you to betray me in the past."

Ollivander couldn't move. The tremors had become something worse. His limbs no longer heeded his will.

Malfoy hesitated, "Don't you need to do so yourself, Lord? I -"

The hood shook slowly, "My wand is registered, subject to inspection. I've seen to it yours has been returned to you, unbeknownst to anyone but us." He snorted, "You've failed me before, Lucius. Do not fail me again."

"What would I use? To bind to? I -"

The chuckle was chilling, "Why, that cane of yours. It has outlasted any loyalty you've ever claimed. You hold it closer to you than the family you'd hoped to save, yet lost all the same."

"I -"

"Kill him, Lucius. Kill your fear!"

Was that fear, or pity in Malfoy's eyes? It did not matter, it did not last. It was quickly replaced with determination, _"Avadra Kedavra!"_

Any fear left Garrick as well. Fear, pain, the weight of the years, all gone. Something grey, ephemeral ripped from Lucius and sealed to his walking stick. As the store blurred before Ollivander, he felt a tug and knew the demon bone was now secure. The box would serve as clue enough to a clever young man like Potter. Lucius would not run free for long. But what about the other? It was too late for that. Ollivander would not dare to linger. Never again did he want to hear that voice. Never again would he bear the touch nor suffer the cruelty of Voldemort.


End file.
